


the prince and me

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, College, Dany comes from somewhat normal upbringing, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Ghost is the best wingman, Jon has a secret, Modern Royalty, More characters added later, North is a principality like Monaco, POV Daenerys Targaryen, Prince Jon Snow, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexy Times, Sweet, awkward!jon, rating changed for chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Dany is focused on studying for her graduate degree at Queen Alysanne's University in the North when she meets her attractive neighbor and fellow student Jon and his sweet dog Ghost in her apartment building, striking up a friendship and maybe something more.  Dany's not one for gossip rags so she knows nothing about the North's royal family or even Jon's association...which he is keen not to share, and looking back, there were signs...**Epilogue added; complete**
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 263
Kudos: 881





	1. the prince and me

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot, but ended up becoming already almost 10K and I'm not even halfway done with my outline, so it might become a couple other chapters. Most the second is already finished, since I'm locked in my home as my entire region is on quarantine/lockdown. So I'm just typing away, lol. 
> 
> This is very, very, very loosely based on The Prince and Me, but Jon is not a playboy/bad boy Prince, but Dany is very much clueless about his identity. 
> 
> Also, I'm doing something a bit different, telling this like a story, so there are parts interspersed with Dany from future "looking back."
> 
> Enjoy!

_There are love stories and then there are love stories, Dany always thought. She was never one for fanciful dreams of becoming a princess or a queen, she knew that her family were distantly descended from the ancient rulers of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, but she had never run around as a small girl dreaming of becoming the queen, with a crown on her silver hair and visions of princes and kings in her amethyst eyes. Her mother always said she was going to rule the world, but not as a queen, as a conqueror._

_Or she was going to save all the lost souls, her brother—more a father to her than her actual father—used to say, when he would encounter her reading or asking questions about the people who worked for him at Dragonstone Industries, making sure that he took care of them when they needed a day off or were sick or injured. Rhaegar always thought she was going to become a doctor, but she thought a bit bigger. She wanted to really help people, to work with the ones who had no rights and ensure everyone was treated like the human beings they were, regardless of race, religion, tribe, creed, and all that._

_She knew that there were royals in the world, particularly in Westeros, where among the Six Kingdoms there were lords and ladies, highborn houses part of the House of Lords in their Parliament, but it was the mysterious North, walled off after a bitter war ages before that maintained its monarchy, led by the King of Winter, they called him, Eddard Stark. They had a ruling council who oversaw the day-to-day responsibilities of running the kingdom, but there was the Stark family and its extended branches, some married into other noble families of Westeros._

_Dany never paid attention to them. She never entertained gossip rags going on about Prince Robb Stark and his penchant for fast cars and beautiful model women, before he married Lady Margaery Tyrell, who was the granddaughter of the Dowager Duchess of Highgarden. Or Princess Sansa Stark and her arcane beliefs on the Northern rule and isolationist politics, even though it was her designer fashion that got her most noticed Even the blogs and the gossip sites managed to follow Prince Brandon and Prince Rickon, the two youngest of King Eddard’s children and naturally all eyes were on his wife, the Queen Consort Catelyn Stark, who was formerly Lady Catelyn Tully, Countess of Riverrun._

_She knew most girls fancied becoming the likes of Margaery or Catelyn, marrying into a royal family. Except that was all fantasy, best suited for romance novels and movies of the week. A nice little film to stream with a bowl of popcorn and her best friend on a Saturday night. Not life, no, certainly not life, especially not Dany’s life. She had to work hard for everything she wanted, nothing was ever given to her._

_Except there were love stories, love stories of the common girl meeting the prince, falling in love, and becoming a princess. Things little girls dream of. Just not Dany._

_So it certainly surprised her when she met a real-life prince._

_And he was nothing at all like a prince._

_No, nothing like that at all._

_She looked back on it with affection, wondering how she hadn’t realized it. There were signs of course, signs that there was something just a bit off, except she always thought it was just, well, him._

_Looking back, Dany laughed now, she really should have seen it._

~/~/~/~

Dany was freezing when she first met him.

When she first met _Jon._

That's all he was at the time. Just _Jon_ and nothing more. She had been exhausted, multiple flights from Essos draining her, and the drive from the nearest airport to the university town in the North was over three hours, along bumpy highways in a cab. Definitely not ideal, with stringy hair and bags under her violet eyes, and her entire small body shaking with cold.

Because the North was _fucking freezing._

"Got it miss?" the cab driver asked her, while Dany fumbled with one of her suitcases, the roller bag obstinately refusing to roll when she tried dragging it from the trunk towards the curb. She waved her hand, fending off any assistance from the man. He shrugged nonchalantly, waiting for her to then rummage in her tote for her wallet, slapping some cash into his hand. He chuckled, handing her back a few other notes. He cocked his head, tipping his cap towards her. "Just so you know, the North uses its own currency, but thanks for the tip."

Dany glanced up, frowning. "What? I thought..."

"We take both, but just so you know. Farther North you go, things change." He chuckled, tipping the cap to her again in farewell. "Have a good day."

She waved absently, standing on the curb by her new apartment building; well, the apartment that the university had provided her along with the minuscule stipend, teaching assistant position, and the scholarship to pursue her Master's degree. Dany shivered in place, annoyed the sales assistant in Pentos who had helped her with her purchases failed to mention the exact level of bone-chilling cold the North had, even in fucking September. Or maybe it was just her born-in-Essos blood. _Dragon blood_ , her mother and Rhaegar always teased, she had the most of it.

The apartment building was old, looked like it was a former castle or keep of some such thing, retrofitted with modern touches, but still maintaining its old-world charm. Dany's fingers were frozen, her gloves doing absolutely nothing to keep them nimble, and as a result, her keys kept slipping from her hands while she struggled to control her bags from flopping around. Breath puffed out in hard spurts, cloudy wisps fogging up her glasses-- _why_ did she decide to wear her glasses?

"Ah!" she yelped, when she got the key out just in time for the door to push open, knocking her sideways. The designer boots that looked really cute with their fur ruff around the ankle and their Vibram soles did _not_ give her any traction, her right foot slipping on a patch of ice and giving out, pitching her backwards into a snow-covered hedge of pointy sharp branches and scratchy leaves.

"Seven hells! _Fuck_ — I'm sorry!"

The accented voice belonged to what she imagined to be a man, but in her foggy vision and with her beanie falling over her eyes, silver hair sticking to her face from the fall, she could not be sure. Suddenly there was a white flash and something quite warm and—  
_slimy_ went right up the side of her flushed cheek. She yelped, kicking and punching, unsure what she was even hitting for. Her heart pounded in her chest, terror filling her, trying to right herself but the hedge was preventing her from truly moving. As well as some sort of heavy beast that had made its way to her chest, still licking at her face.

"Ghost! Fucking wolf, stop! Down! _Down!_ "

"That thing is _not_ a ghost!" she shouted, tugging off her glasses to squint at the creature. She tried to get back to her feet, rolling like a damn egg now in her puffy coat that was uselessly keeping her warm. It was a bear or a monster. She got to her feet, gaping and trying to figure out what was truly happening to her. Everything went so quickly, one moment she was trying to open the door and the next she was in the brush. She tried to dust off, wondering where her keys went.

The man who was holding back whatever the animal was that was still trying to lick at her face offered her his hand, helping her back to her feet. He rounded on the animal again, pointing to the ground, his Northern burr suddenly firm, ordering. "Stay!"

The dog grumbled, but did as ordered, although she was quite sure he also rolled his eyes. Which were _bright red._. It took her a moment. She blinked several times, wiping her eyes, and placed her glasses back on. The fog had dissipated, revealing the cause of her fall and also her assistance. A snowy dog with red eyes and bright pink tongue staring at her, tail swishing in an arc on the snow-covered stoop.

The beast appeared to belong to the man who was looking down at her, wearing all black, but definitely not as bundled up as her, just a thin black jacket, scarf, and fingerless gloves. He was holding a red leash that was clipped to the animal—possibly a dog but he could very well have also been a polar bear. She swallowed the lump in her throat, accepting the keys he offered her. "Thanks...um, for...everything I guess."

He chuckled, reaching his keys to wave at the electronic pad by the door, unlocking it. "Let me help you, it is the least I can do after my dog knocked you down."

"Hmm, that is not a dog."

The man ducked his head shyly and she noticed that his cheeks were pinking over the top of a close-cropped black beard. Dark curls escaped from a knot at the base of his neck. He wore thin silver glasses, behind which were steel-gray eyes. They were very kind, if a bit still shy, slightly embarrassed. "He's...well he's mostly dog. I think."

She smiled, grabbing one of her bags and jerking it inside. "His name is Ghost?

"Aye, here, let me get that for you."

Missandei, her best friend in the entire universe who was also studying at Queen Alysanne's University for some post-doctoral research, told her that Northerners were an odd lot of folks. Dany had been worried, coming from Valyria and Essos that they would view her as the _outsider_ and while Missandei warned her that that was entirely possible, it was an old-world view and most of the younger generations did not harbor the same stubborn and downright xenophobic views as their previous generations. Although she did tell her that some of the royal family—since the North still actually had a King unlike the rest of the Six Kingdoms with their Prime Minister—were a bit snooty when it came to "keeping the North Northern." one of the Princesses, for example.

Except this man was behaving like how Missandei said most of them actually were-- very polite, almost chivalrous. He helped her with her bags while also still maintaining full control over his wolf-dog, apologizing nonstop for crashing into her and causing her a fright. "Ghost means well, he just has no manners, he's still a pup you see."

"He's fine, truly," she laughed, tugging off her gloves. He helped her to the stairs-- no elevator-- before pausing, waiting expectedly. She blinked. "Oh! Um, I'm new here, sorry...uh, I'm Daenerys."

He fumbled slightly, still a bit pink and she did not suspect it was from the cold. "Um, Jon...nice to meet you...I was...what apartment are you?"

It was her turn to pink. "Ah...why..."

Now he flushed deeper, the red creeping up his neck. "Oh no! I...I'm not a stalker or anything," he laughed. He groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his chin to his chest as she laughed, slightly relaxed by his clear awkwardness and embarrassment. "Ah, fuck, I'm screwing this up, no, I live here...2D...I can help you with your bags."

Ghost was dancing in a circle, snapping his jaws at the air and tongue lolling out. She smiled, shifting one of her bags on her shoulder. "Um, I think Ghost might need to go out. Right?"

He glanced at the wolf and sighed. "Seven hells."

She giggled; she was immediately relaxed now. He was quite something, this new Northerner. Or else, she assumed he was a Northerner, with his burr and his obvious ability to withstand what she considered to be freezing weather, when it probably wasn't all that much for him. "Tell you what, you let Ghost out and I'll take this bag up...neighbor."

"Neighbor?"

"I'm 2C."

He smiled again. It was not very big, just a slight twist of his lips, but she saw how it was more in his eyes. They twinkled, kind and gentle. He shook the hand she offered to him. "Nice to meet you 2C...also called Daenerys."

There was something sparking, she thought, and it wasn't static electricity. She felt warm all over when she gripped his hand, the fingers rough and callused. _An outdoor man._ He had a firm hold. She licked her lips, knowing she was there to _study_ and men were certainly not in the forefront of her mind. Dany was there to study, to get her degree and return to Essos. Her stomach did little flips in her belly, like she swallowed a bunch of butterflies that were straining to escape. She let go of his hand, letting hers drop to her side, to take one of her bags again, while he tugged at Ghost's leash.

She swallowed the drying lump that was now strangling her throat, whispering. "Dany. Call me Dany."

He stepped away, to let Ghost out, whispering. "Call me Jon." He hesitated and then that little smile returned, not meeting his eyes, but seemed just for her.

“Just Jon.”

~/~/~/~

The second time she encountered Jon—truly encountered him, not just polite greetings in the hallway or by the mailboxes, was at the library. She had already been at school for about three months, was about to complete her first semester, and had been so busy that she'd almost forgotten about her polite, very cute neighbor with his adorable fluffy dog.

_Almost._

"I think I'm dreaming in ancient runes."

Dany snorted, rather unladylike, but she never considered herself to be someone who was highbrow. She smirked in the direction of Missandei, who was rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, after finally looking up from what appeared to be an ancient textbook with withered brown pages and stains on the corners that were possibly blood. She tapped her pencil on the edge. "Look alive, it's only a few more weeks until break."

"Thank gods," Missandei muttered, blinking rapidly to refocus her vision. She drew the book back to her and lifted her pen, beginning to translate again on her notepad, shaking her head, her dangling earrings clinking lightly with the slight movement. "Tell me again why did I decide to pursue ancient languages as a post-doctoral program?"

"Because you are the smartest person known to mankind and will finally be the one to crack some of those ancient tablets and things they found in the far North," Dany said. She thought Missandei was the smartest person in the entire world. They had been assigned as roommates at the University of Meereen, instantly bonding, realizing that they never really had a girlfriend their entire lives until they met each other.

While Dany had taken time off from school to bum around Essos—learning different cultures, working with various nonprofits, and occasionally helping out with her family's dragonglass business, Missandei had raced to Volantis University, getting her Master's and Ph.D. in multiple languages and comparative religions, and was now doing post-doc in ancient runes to assist her with a job she had already procured as an archivist for Oldtown University.

Dany honestly thought the reason she took this program in the North was because Missy was there, was lonely, as an outsider in a freezing land, and since she needed to get a Master's if she wanted to pursue her work in Essos, she applied and was grateful she got in, let alone with the financial assistance. The Targaryens used to be flush with gold until her father crashed their generations old family business into the ground. Her brother worked on it from Dragonstone, the family's old castle, but she grew up modestly in Braavos with her mother.

She missed her mother, making a note to call her later that evening. They had missed their last weekly call because Rhaella had been with friends traveling to the Summer Isles. She was grateful her mother had a group of people to fall back on, now that all her children were gone from the home. Rhaegar in Dragonstone, Viserys somewhere no one really could keep up with him, and Daenerys in the North.

It was her turn now to blink rapidly against the fatigue of staring at textbooks, computer screens, or her notebook. She closed the book she had grabbed on ancient civilizations int he North, to help her with her massive paper on the Free Folk and how best to implement social programs among insular communities. "I'll be back," she said, gesturing towards the stacks. She needed to get the next volume, hoping it would have more up-to-date information.

The cold had only gotten worse in the North and she felt silly walking by some of the girls wearing thin sweaters and cute little ankle boots, while she was wearing a thick sweater, a beanie, fingerless gloves, and a scarf. Not to mention her jeans were tucked into knee-high boots that she had caved and bought after Missandei told her that designer fashionable ones she'd purchased would do no good against the hip-length snows that were to come.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose, peering around the top shelf for the gap where she'd taken down the book, spotting it and reaching up to slide the book back. Her fingers barely grazed the bottom of the second shelf from the top, to her consternation. She grunted, rising as high on her toes as she possibly could, but no luck. "Damn," she muttered, gazing around her for a stool, but she found nothing.

Ah, well, improvise. Dany placed her boot on the second to bottom shelf and grabbed the side of the case, hoisting herself up. Now, she did not weigh that much, she barely topped five feet and three inches, and had often been accused of being _tiny_. Rhaegar called her his little dragon whelp, like she was still a child. So she did not expect the bottom shelf to suddenly give, just as she was about to grab the book she needed from the top.

Dany exclaimed in surprise, adrenaline rushing straight through her as she toppled, this time into the strong arms of someone who had run up behind her, as the books from the top shelf fell in a cacophonous thud around her, pages crumpling and at least one of them knocking her in the side of the head. She grabbed hold of her savior for balance, staring at the mess she'd created with horror. "Oh fuck," she mumbled, hand rising to cover her mouth. She cringed. "Oops."

"You just can't seem to help yourself, can you?"

She turned, to thank the person for keeping her from twisting her ankle or worse, only to see it was her extremely attractive neighbor—how did I not notice how cute he actually was?— with very strong arms wrapped around her middle, her knees bumping into his and their hips flush against each other. She blushed, embarrassed by her out of character klutz behavior, although he wouldn't know, given how now he had twice saved her from falling on her ass. "Well neither can you," she retorted, immediately tugging out of his grasp.

Warmth flooded through her, probably because of all her layers, but maybe for other reasons. He smiled, although with that same awkwardness that he'd exhibited in the foyer of the apartment building. Almost shy and reserved, like he had no idea how cute he really was, standing there in a cable knit sweater with tight jeans and scuffed up boots. The curls were wild around his neck, most of them pulled back from his face, and he wore his glasses again. He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly once more. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, pride is a bit hurt. Is wear I'm not always falling." She knelt to pick up the books she'd knocked down, just as he did the same, both of them colliding together with a loud and ugly crack of skulls. She cried out, grabbing her forehead. "Ow!"

He cursed again, closing his eyes tight and smacking his hand to his forehead where he'd knocked her. "Seven hells! Gods Daenerys, you think you're out to kill me or something."

She glowered at him; _why_ was she acting like this around a _guy_? "Well it isn't like it's my fault, it seems to be just around _you_ ," she retorted. She snatched a book from his hands, standing up and sniffing, no longer thankful for his assistance. Mostly because it was a face saving measure, her pale cheeks red as she tried to put the books back. except she was too short. And they wouldn't go. _fuck!_

He chuckled, amused. "Need help?"

"And how will you help me? You only have a couple inches on me."

It snapped out before she realized and she clenched her eyes and teeth tight, instantly guilty. Except he laughed, surprised. "Ouch! You always this harsh with people who help you?"

"Just you," she said.

"Here. If you _absolutely_ insist." He gestured towards her hips, eyebrows lifting, silently moving towards her. At first, she wasn't sure what he was doing, until she realized when his warm, wide palms wrapped around her hips, lifting her gently. She gasped, surprised, when her feet left the ground, but she smiled, laughing as she placed the books back up on the shelf.

"My hero," she teased, when he put her back down with a light drop. _Impressive._ He was hiding some muscle under that sweater, she thought, trying to see where it was, but he just pulled his sleeves down a bit, returning to his shy smiles and looks.

He turned pink again. She wondered if that was why he had a beard, to hide his obvious discomfort with either flirting or compliments. Or maybe both. Although...she narrowed her eyes; he didn't _seem_ to be flirting with her. Even in the hallway at the apartment he was always very polite, even when Ghost was still working on _not_ shoving his nose into her crotch each time he saw her. Each time he did, Jon was once again mortified on behalf of his dog, falling over himself to pull back the energetic pup while at the same time ensuring she or her virtue were intact.

It was rather sweet, actually. When in someone else it probably would have just irritated her. Gods knew some of her previous boyfriends exhibited irritating behavior, which was why they were no longer her boyfriends. Especially the one who insisted she call him a “Khal” or the one who seemed to be more in love with his lovemaking prowess and what she thought of it than his actual personality. She hadn’t thought much of both, come to think of it.

His voice trembled almost, when he spoke again. "Well, hopefully you don't go ah...stumbling into more trouble." He cocked his head slightly, that twinkle returning to his iron gray eyes, such an odd color, she thought. They stood out against his marble white skin and the raven black of his hair and beard. "It was nice to see you. Outside of the apartment."

Dany smiled, holding the book she'd originally sought to get, watching him turn and walk off. She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, fighting internally about the benefits of chasing after him. She would probably see him at the apartment, but...ah, seven hells of it all. She hurried around the stacks, reaching to lightly touch at his elbow, causing him to jerk in surprise, glancing down at her for a moment, his pretty pink lips forming a little 'o.' She stepped towards him, voice dropping, quieter than even a library whisper. "It was nice to see you. I mean...I wanted to say that. Outside the apartment."

He glanced around, eyes darting quickly. She wasn't sure what to make of that; it was like he didn’t want anyone to notice them. They were still between bookcases, in one of the aisles, away from the study cubes and tables. He crossed his arms over his chest, rocking on his heels. He wrestled with what to say, she could see the wheels turning in his mind, until he cleared his throat, which bobbed with the action, resting his gaze on the book. "Free Folk?" he asked, turning to peer at it closer. "Are you studying them?"

"Not particularly, just for this essay, although I will admit, the university's relationship with the Free Folk organizations is part of why I took the scholarship." And because Missy was here, she figured, but she kept that to herself.

That had those sad looking gray eyes lighting up, instantly engaged. "You know, I'm studying history, ha...actually was planning on going to Hardhome this weekend, there's a museum there with some papers that my professor was able to get me access to, I can...can bring you. You can see what the cities there are really like."

 _Go Beyond the Wall?!_ Her heart jumped straight into her throat, excited at the possibility. It had been almost three months and she still had not had an opportunity. Professor Mormont said that most didn't get to go into the camps above the Wall until their second year of study, considering it a bit too dangerous, but this was the main city. "Oh! That sounds amazing, I would love to come!” A sobering realization hit her, forcing her lips into a pout. “Um, I don’t have a border pass yet.” _Damn._ The Wall Border Authority insisted that anyone crossing the Wall needed to have a pass.

He waved his hand, unbothered by that fact. "I'll get you one, don't worry about it."

"Really? I heard they were hard to get." _Who did he know?_

"I know someone, it's fine." He smiled quickly, cocking his head to her. "And ah...I know where you live. I'll drop it off."

 _Well, okay…_ she thought, smirking. She reached her hand out. "Give me your phone."

That had him drawing back, an odd suspicion crossing his eyes; very briefly. Just the hint of squint and wary tone. "Why?"

 _Weird._ "To give you my number. Text me with the information you need for the border pass. I mean, you know where I live, but you don't know everything about me." She tried to flirt a bit, but he seemed to still be a bit gun-shy on that. _So strange, for someone so attractive, he could have any girl just grabbing his ankles and chasing after him._ He reached into his jean’s pocket and removed his phone, typing the passcode to open it up, before he passed it over to her, still with a reserved hesitation in his slow movement. There were several apps on the front she mentally made note of—the university’s online scheduling and email apps, library, three different e-readers, and to her surprise an app with the symbol she recognized to be the Northern military. Except it was the background that actually said more about him than he realized. She giggled, that silly high-pitched one that only seemed to come out in his presence, like she was some dumb teenager. She tried to stop it, but it only sounded like she hiccuped, her cheeks warming with flush. _Ugh, Dany, really?_ she mentally chastised herself. She tried to swallow it back again, shaking her head. "Of course Ghost is your screensaver."

The photo of Ghost was of when he was a puppy, a little ball of white fluff sitting on a rather expensive looking silver and navy rug, before a fire, his red eyes glowing as his tongue lolled out of his open mouth, what appeared to be the antler of a massive stag in his tiny paws, his little tail swishing in a blur at his feet. He really was the most adorable dog, she thought.

As he did, making a face, although he seemed pleased. “Duh, of course.”

"He's a good screensaver, incredibly cute, if a bit distracting." She added her phone number and then snapped her picture for the contact screen, hoping she didn't look too stupid, with her red beanie and scarf, bundled up like Red Riding Hood or some nonsense. She passed it back to him when she finished. "There."

Jon took it and sent a text. Her phone pinged and she pulled it out, smiling at the image of Ghost that filled her screen. "I’ll let you know when it's ready, I'll drop it off."

"Sound good," she said, watching him smile again, hands shoving into his pockets as he trudged off, shoulders hunching slightly when he emerged beyond the stacks and in the group of cubes and tables. It seemed people turned to look at him, as she approached the end of the aisle. Then again, he was something different. Not like most of the college guys, trying to stand out. It seemed he went out of his way to blend in, to hide. She tilted her head, just a tad, to study his retreating image.

Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to dab at her lips. They felt dry. His backside was just as good as the front, maybe better. It was the jeans, she decided. They curved perfectly to his ass, which was probably one of the most perfect ones she had ever laid eyes on. Like the gods sculpted it themselves. She shivered, feeling quite lecherous suddenly. _Get. A. Grip._ She turned away, trotting to Missandei, who had her face smashed into one of her ancient books.

She swung her feet around on the bench at their table, poking her friend with her pen. "Hey, get up, I think I have a date."

Missandei jerked her head so fast a page stuck to her cheek tore out. She hissed in pain, like she tore off her own finger, stabbing the page back into the book. "Shit! But I mean, _what_ seriously!?"

Dany wasn't sure if it was a date, not really. That was probably presumptuous of her to say. It was a joint research venture. That's what she would call it. She shook her head. "I mean, not really actually, my neighbor, the cute one I was telling you about with the big white dog? He invited me to Hardhome, he's going to get me a border pass. He's studying history. I just saw him now in the books."

Her friend got an odd look, but Dany thought nothing of it, too excited about the prospect of actually seeing a true Free Folk settlement, to see the social services they offered to their people. It was a fantastic way for her to see how they did it here, perhaps she could emulate it with some of the groups in Essos, particularly the one she wanted to start herself. She picked up her pen, doodling the logo she'd designed for it. She was calling it _The Dracarys Organization._ Dragonfire, something that people all had within themselves, they just needed to tap into it. She had the design based off her family's old crest, with three dragons.

_She had no idea as she doodled that making that date with Jon was going to be the start of the rest of her life, cheesy as it sounded. Looking back on it, years later, she was grateful she had no idea what was about to happen, because if she had, she wasn't quite sure she would have gone for it._

~/~/~/~

The trip to Hardhome was probably one of the happiest times in her life, something Dany was surprised to think, looking back on the memory. Jon knocked on her door early in the morning, presented her with her border pass, convinced her _not_ to wear the cute little red coat she'd gotten from her mother as a _Yay-you-almost-finished-your-first-semester-in-the-North! gift_ and passed Ghost's leash over to her, apologizing but saying his normal dog-walker would be able to help that day so he was coming with them.

Looking back on the day—fondly of course—Dany suspected there was no dogwalker, and Jon used Ghost as something akin to a ‘wingman’ because at the time he was so painfully unaware how much he actually _liked_ her and subconsciously assumed—rightfully so—that his dog would provide endless points of conversation. Which was fine with her, because again, looking back, Jon was really quite oblivious to the fact that _she_ was hopelessly attracted to him.

Something that took the trip to Hardhome, a study session in the library, and several at-home takeout dinners in front of her television for her to even realize. She did feel the spark between them, finding him to be kind, intelligent, and with a wry sense of humor that took some prodding to reveal, but when it did it showed itself to be incredibly dry and at times dark, which to her absolute delight served to make him even _more_ attractive. Except it seemed he had firmly planted his flag in the _friend_ territory, to her disappointment. Until she noticed one evening that he’d been looking at her ass, although he was too polite to make it obvious, she knew. She warmed at the thought, pretending nothing of it.

Or the time when she leaned over him to pass him another bottle of beer, sitting on his couch watching a documentary about the former slave cities of Essos, when she was _sure_ he sniffed her hair, too quick for her to notice at the time, until he made a comment, pink-faced about how Ghost had a shampoo that smelled like vanilla and was that what the smell was from her candle? It was an odd question, but she’d said “No, not a candle, my shampoo. Vanilla and lavender, although I usually use orange blossoms and jasmine, reminds me of Essos.”

“Oh? I’ve only been to the Disputed Lands.”

That generated a long discussion, the documentary forgotten, about the Disputed Lands between Myr and Lys and Dany realized that he had somehow used the smell of her shampoo to produce a conversation piece, whether he knew it or not. _Clever Jon, very clever_ , she’d thought.

“You know I don’t know your last name,” she said to him once, after one of their coffee study dates, in a quiet shop right near campus. She cocked her head. “You wouldn’t let me look at your passport when we went through the Wall.”

He shuffled in slight embarrassment, which she thought was weird—who was embarrassed by their last name? Then he explained, which made her understand, even if she thought it was foolish. “It’s Snow.” He almost spat it out. “A bastard name.”

Her nose wrinkled, immediately angry on his behalf, for generations of men and women in the North who had to take on the surname of a _bastard._ “This is the year after Aegon’s Conquest, 2020,” she complained. “Surely you are not supposed to still use a name that implies you have none. Everyone has a name!”

“I was legitimized, but it doesn’t matter. Still a Snow. So it’s what I use.”

He’d changed the subject after that, poorly, mentioning something about she was Targaryen, did that mean she was related to the _real_ Targaryens? Their entire conversation around her almond-milk latte and his double-shot redeye—his caffeine addiction was going to give him a heart attack, she teased—revolved around her family’s genealogy, which fascinated him.

Once again, he’d taken the heat off himself, she remembered years later, not thinking a thing about it at the time, because she was so curious about him. Comfortable in his presence, she had made a friend. A friend she was realizing she would not mind becoming something more. Missandei of course tortured her endlessly about it, about whether they were going to _take the next step._

Dany had figured they were stuck permanently in Friend Zone until about two weeks before winter break, when he took her to a pub in a nearby village, out of the way, pretty quiet, and definitely not a place she would ever have gone on her own. It had the look of _Locals Only_ about it. In a charming Northern way, which she soon discovered was kind of the point, but _locals_ meant something entirely different to the proprietor of The Wildling Pub.

She hopped out of Jon’s Range Rover, the shiny black and rather expensive SUV a surprise for someone who lived in a one-bedroom apartment filled with poor grad students, joking that the majority of his income went to keep Ghost in organic meats, since his wolf-side seemed to take up most of his palate, rejecting any store-bought dog food. Dany was not sure _how_ Jon made his income, since it seemed all he did was study like her. She assumed he was also a TA. For that, the undergraduate history students were quite lucky; she was sure he had to fend off his fair share of co-eds.

The pub appeared to have seen better days, an old black ramshackle building with fogged out windows and a black door covered in flyers for bands, shows, help-wanted, and what also seemed to be rallies in favor of the Free Folk. There was even a sign that was advertising for a protest against the monarchy. She smirked, standing back as he reached for the door, tugging on it to hold it open for her. “Anti-monarchy, huh?”

“Well, they are a bunch of stodgy old farts,” he said.

“Hm, not a fan of the Starks?”

“Not a fan of some of them.”

Any curiosity at that statement went away when a booming voice in a heavy burr shouted: “Crow!”

 _Crow?_ Dany’s eyes widened to violet orbs when a massive creature with hair as red as fire, wild and a mess around his head and face, launched itself over the large polished oak bar, moving faster than someone of his size probably should have been able, and to her horrified fascination lifted Jon around his waist and hauled him straight off the ground, shaking him like a rag doll, as Jon’s arms flailed above him. Except instead of being surprised or scared—as anyone rightfully should have been—Jon was laughing, shouting: “Tormund! Fuck mate, put me down!”

The man whose name presumably was Tormund, dropped Jon unceremoniously onto the floor, clapping his shoulders so hard that Jon might have lost an inch or so of height, feet breaking through the dark wooden floor. All she could do was smile, because what else was there to do in the presence of such a happy welcome? She turned slightly to Jon, somewhat unsure of this strange place he’d brought her, with a bartender that greeted his customers in that manner. “Where are we?” she laughed, only somewhat joking.

Jon wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her against his solid chest, the movement more familiar than he’d ever gotten with her in the past couple months, his free hand gesturing towards the redhead, who had crossed his tree-trunk arms across his wide chest, beaming curiously at her, pale blue eyes twinkling. “Dany, his is Tormund Giantsbane, owner of the pub. I…ah…” He squinted, lips quirking. “Worked with Tormund, I guess you could say.”

Tormund bellowed another laugh, deep-bodied and from his belly. “Ah, he’s too nice, little Crow, he means to say he _arrested_ me!”

“Arrest?” she exclaimed.

“Aye, what now, bout’ five years or so ago Crow?” Tormund rubbed at his beard, his thick bushy red eyebrows curving like a hook had just tugged them up at the corners. He grinned. “Don’t worry your pretty head there, what’d he call you? _Dany?_ ” He chuckled. “This one got me for smuggling across the Wall and protesting our fair Northern government. Took pity on me and petitioned for my release on _compassionate_ circumstances, whatever the fuck that means.”

It still did not explain how Jon even had arrest powers or what he was doing in such a position to have those powers. Dany felt her own eyebrows twist in confusion, smiling up at him, as Jon seemed to realize he hadn’t thought it through how to explain his relationship with Tormund, now scratching at the back of his neck—a move she knew meant he was stressed or thinking hard. “How come you were even arresting him, hmm?”

Tormund grinned, patting his shoulder again. “You explain that one Crow. What can I get you both? On the house of course!”

“Two ales,” she called, pushing lightly at Jon, who stumbled slightly. She walked over to one of the stools, hopping easily onto it, hands folding on the smooth bar. She reached over, offering her hand. “He also did not properly introduce _me._ Daenerys Targaryen, but you can call me Dany.”

He kissed her knuckles instead of shaking her hand, grinning lecherously. “Dany, huh? Take it that means we’re friends, aye?”

“Hmm, we’ll see.” Fuck that, she absolutely loved this man. Dany glanced at Jon, who sat up beside her. She poked her index finger into his ribs. He shrugged off his coat, throwing it onto the empty stool beside him. While she struggled with her coat and scarf, she demanded explanations. “So tell me again how you arrested him? Also, what’s with calling you Crow?”

Jon took one of the stone mugs of ale that Tormund placed in front of them, before he went off to get another customer’s order. It was not busy in the pub, but it was loud, pumping Northern music from the speakers, a very rowdy game of pool in the corner, and some college kids arguing drunkenly at a table in the middle of the room over the rights the Northerners had or did not have under the Stark monarchy. He shrugged. “I joined the military, after school. Well, sort of, I was in military school as a teenager. Kind of a thing in my family, all the men do it.” He sipped the foam off his ale, rubbing the back of his hand over his upper lip, where some fo the suds clung to his beard. He tapped his fingers on the side of the mug, smirking at her. “I was in the Night’s Watch. That’s why he calls me Crow.”

The Night’s Watch was an elite unit of the Northern military, she remembered reading in one of the books Rhaella got her before she moved from Essos. They were something like commandos, but patrolled along the Wall. They wore all black and were called Crows in a rather derogatory fashion because their uniforms in ancient times were heavy black furs that resembled the carrion bird. Except Tormund did not use it in a mean way, rather affectionately. In the same way Jon seemed to drawl out her name to mean more than just a shortened version.

She shook her head; it should not have surprised her. Jon carried himself the way someone with military might, his back always straight, shoulders pulled away and head constantly on a swivel. He was also very diligent about working out, which explained the muscles she had been surprised he housed under his hoodies, sweaters, and thick coats. He certainly didn’t show them off the way most college-age men with his body would have. If anything he seemed oblivious to it. “You are such a dork,” she blurted, unable to stop herself.

“Dork?” he echoed. His gray eyes rounded like an owl’s beneath his glasses.

“Yes, dork.” She poked him again, laughing. “You study history, wear glasses, don’t realize that you’re basically a hot piece of ass, you support the Free Folk and don’t believe in the monarchy, have the sweetest dog known to mankind, and now I find out that you also used to be in the military _and_ you remain friends with men you arrest?”

He mumbled. “Just the one.”

Gosh he was so cute, she thought. She couldn’t help herself, leaning towards him, but he suddenly grabbed her arm, tugging her towards the empty pool table. “Come on, let’s see how big a talk you are at a game.”

“I don’t know how to play,” she lied. Rhaegar had a pool table in his basement and when she and Viserys were young they would always play. She’d gotten quite good, beating the snot out of her older brother.

“Even better.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door open, an exceptionally tall woman with short-cropped blonde hair and a younger man that looked almost like a teenager who hadn’t lost his baby-face, both wearing dark clothing and if she was not mistaken, the tall woman was carrying a gun on her hip, the way her blazer fell over her side. Jon turned her away from them, towards the pool table, and she forgot about them, not realizing that they’d seemed to be there and then suddenly weren’t.

It didn’t mean anything at the time, naturally, just an odd feeling on the back of her neck. Dany had no reason to think anything of it either—at the time.

They played pool, several games of it, and throughout she quite enjoyed making him crazy, as she beat him twice and allowed him to win once. Well, she thought she allowed him tow in, but he may have actually figured out her methods. They drank Northern ale, several mugs of it, and Tormund plied them with hot beef pies straight from the oven, her stomach growling for real food after a few strenuous games of pool. She laughed more than she thought she ever had in her life, between Tormund’s ribbing of Jon, Jon’s adorable embarrassment, and the fact that she had never felt so comfortable with another man in her life.

Hours passed, until they were the only ones left in the pub, lights turned out around them, and their heads bent together as she showed Jon a scar he’d observed on her left hand, curving slightly around her wrist. “That was from my older brother Viserys. He was a piece of shit when we were kids, he actually tied a rope around my wrists and led me around like a slave, until my other brother Rhaegar caught him. IT chafed so bad it left the scar,” she explained.

“Fuck, I thought my brother was bad.”

“You have a brother?” He had never spoken about his family. As someone who had an odd relationship with hers, she hadn’t pried. Some people did not all have the fairytale mother, father, and one sister nuclear family the books and shows made them all think they should have. Dany respected it, but now that he’d mentioned a brother, she realized he had not said even a word. Just hat his last name implied he didn’t have parents who were married.

He seemed to catch his slip, sighing. “Well, sort of a brother. I grew up with my cousins. Three brothers and two sisters,” he said, pulling a face at her laugh. He smiled in spite of himself. “They’re all like my siblings, I just call them that. My mom died when I was really little, her brother took me in.” He cocked his head, whispering. “You really don’t know do you?”

Maybe it was the drink they’d consumed, the fatigue they both felt from enjoying each other so much that evening, or the shadow cast from the dim lighting behind the bar, Dany really had no idea. Just that he was gazing at her with newfound fascination, like he had never seen her before. Even if they had already spent months enjoying each other’s company. “Know what?” she murmured, leaning in.

Their foreheads bumped, barely, a strand of her silver hair falling from her messy braids, as his dark curls seemed to frame them, pitching forward when he did, noses brushing. He made a sound, a growl, and she murmured her assent, needing him to kiss her. Dany needed him to kiss her more than she needed to breathe, she was positive of it. She would die without it. It had been so long, not just since she’d been kissed but since she’d met him and hoped for it, those perfect pink lips of his that would pull into shy smiles and purse into pouts when he seemed confused or unsure. She wanted them on hers, kissing her and proving to her that he felt more for her than _just friends._

Which he did, judging from the way he kissed her. It was _so good._

She sighed against him, at the first press of his mouth to hers, relived that this would not devolve into embarrassed fumbling. He pulled at the back of her neck, fingers branding her skin beneath her hair, tugging her face closer to his, while his other hand trailed along her face, his callused fingertips pleasantly abrading the soft skin he found on the understand of her jaw. He pressed insistently, if maybe a bit too polite-- _of course he’s being polite_ , she thought annoyed. She didn’t want polite though, so she grabbed at the front of his button-down chambray, yanking him to her.

They stumbled slightly off their barstools, unbalanced, and he pressed her back against the hard oak, no longer polite in the way he fisted at her braids, rumbling growl in the back of his throat, and his lips opening over hers, prodding his tongue against the opening of her mouth. She gladly allowed him entry, swallowing back her groans, and she stroked her fingers through the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, rubbing lightly over the warm and smooth skin of his collarbone. His tongue slid along hers, dueling and drinking from her, while she gave as good as she got, tilting her head slightly to encourage him to go deeper.

She bit at his lower lip, their teeth gnashing as the kiss grew sloppier and more insistent, her fingers suddenly with a mind of their own, pulling at his shirt. His hands had moved from her face to pull at the hem of her blouse from her jeans, racing across her flat belly and along her back, slipping beneath the strap of her bra to tease at the skin between her shoulder blades. Dany groaned again, taking a breath before she kissed him again, arching her hips towards his, needing him to know her want, her pleasure.

The hardness she felt between the layers of denim told her all she needed to know of how he felt too. Eventually they broke apart, chests heaving, his hands removed from under her shirt but at the sides of her breasts. His thumbs flicked absently over the stiff peaks, her nipples visible beneath the thin material of her bra and shirt. She hissed, the feeling almost too much for her overstimulated body. She kissed him again, but he broke away, shaking his head, whispering. “Not here, not against the bar.”

“What if I want you to?” she teased. She understood though. They probably did need to slow down, although it seemed they’d been taking it too slow as it was. She chuckled, another kiss, and delighted in his rumbling sound. They held each other for a moment longer, until she nodded, forehead dropping to his. Her eyes fluttered shut. “I was wondering when you were going to kiss me you know.”

He smiled, this time it was not one of those shy little ones she had taken so much enjoyment in seeing, it was wide and took up his whole face, all his shiny white teeth revealed. “I guess I was a bit slow, huh?”

“Dork.”

“Aye, I guess I am that.”

She kissed him, over and over, until they finally broke apart. Jon threw some cash onto the bar to cover their tab, arm around her once they got their coats on. “You good to drive?” she asked; she’d stopped drinking an hour or so ago and felt fine. She hoped he was sober; the idea that he might not remember their kiss panged her suddenly. Dany didn’t want this to be a one-time thing. It probably wasn’t the greatest time, life-wise, with her studies and her plans, but she really, really _liked_ him.

Gods help her she might even love him.

It was too soon to think of that though. To think of something as silly as _love_

_Well, at the time it was, but looking back, Dany really thought it was silly that she didn’t already know how much she did love the stupid dorky fool._

They left the bar, with Jon explaining briefly that Tormund lived above the bar and honestly, you had to have a death wish if you thought of trying to break in and rob the place. “He sleeps with an axe at his bedside,” he explained, shutting the door behind him. He laughed. “Plus, he’s a crazy motherfucker.”

“I think that’s the more off-putting aspect of it.”

They returned to the Range Rover and meandered back to Queen Alysanne’s. Somewhere along the way Dany fell asleep, cheek to the cool windowpane, and her fingers entangled in Jon’s over the middle console. She didn’t realize they were even at her apartment when she felt movement, and noticed that she was in his arms. _He’s carrying me inside, a perfect gentlemen, what did I ever do to deserve this?_ At her door, he set her on her feet, whispering that they were home.

Dany wrapped herself around him, kissing him again. He was such a divine kisser, she sighed, she could honestly kiss him for the rest of time. “Want to come in?” she murmured, playing with the soft curls at the base of his neck.

He smiled, lightly pecking her lips. “I do. Gods above, I do, but…”

“I know.” It wasn’t that it was too soon. They were both tired, it would be time to get up and go to class soon, and both of them seemed to understand this was bigger than a casual grad school fling. Dany kissed him hard, swift. She pushed him back towards his door, laughing. “Get out of here. Dork.”

He stuck his tongue out, waiting for her to get in and close the door. She peeked through her viewfinder and he made another face. She giggled, waiting for him to go inside, to the muffled shout of “ _Down Ghost!_ ”

Dany fell into her bed, too tired to undress, but her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at it, did a mental calculation that it was early morning in Essos and Rhaella still hadn’t quite figured out time differences, and chose to answer. “Hey _Muna_.”

“Darling! It has been ages.” It hadn’t been ages, just two days, but Dany didn’t think it mattered to Rhaella Targaryen. Her mother’s soft, lilting voice spoke in Valyrian, her preferred language. “How are you doing? Are you planning on coming home for winter break?”

“I’m not sure Muna, I think…well…I’m not sure.” It was presumptuous to think about Jon, to include him in her winter plans, but she wanted to know what he was going to be doing before she decided. It was also a terribly long flight. There was a lot of work to do too. She sighed. “I’m not sure,” she repeated. “I’ll think about it. Maybe you should come here?”

“Hmm, I don’t believe I will. Targaryens do not fare well in the North.”

That was true, she thought, thinking of history. Targaryens certainly did not like the North. Too cold for their dragon blood. She shivered, pulling her quilt over her shoulders. “How is Essos, Muna? Is Rhaegar or Viserys visiting?”

“No, they have abandoned their mother.”

“I’m sure they’ll be by to visit soon.”

Rhaella sniffed. “Your brothers are their own men, too busy with their lives. Tell me about yours darling, how is Missandei? Your studies?”

Dany thought about Jon, the few mentions of him she’d dropped to her mother. She smiled into her pillow, phone pressed to her ear, and giggled. “I think I met someone. I don’t want to jinx it though.”

“Oh Daenerys! Tell me!”

“Hmm, he’s Northern.”

“Is he really? What does that mean exactly?”

Dany kept it vague, but she was really close with her mother. It had been just them in some ways when she was growing up, Viserys was seven years older than her, Rhaegar even more so. She told her mother briefly about her neighbor, but went a little further, saying that they’d been on a few dates and his dog was the cutest thing, and maybe she would spend winter break with him, but she wasn’t sure.

Rhaella was positively delighted; she and only met one of Dany’s two serious boyfriends, Drogo, and she’d hated him on sight. Dany had not even bothered to bring Daario by, she was somewhat even embarrassed she’d dated him as long as she had, but he certainly was not worth bringing to Rhaella, because she suspected it was never going to last and it hadn’t. “What’s his name?”

“Jon Snow.”

“Snow? That sounds like a familiar name, I am unsure where I have heard it before.”

“It’s a Northern thing.”

Once she finished with Rhaella, Dany fell asleep, just for a few hours, waking to the sound of knocking on her door and the familiar muffled ‘woof!’ on the other side. She laughed, getting up and opening it to let in Jon and Ghost, one of whom came bearing coffee and muffins and the other who came dragging in a giant stick. “He won’t share with you, sorry about that,” Jon said, as Ghost hopped onto her couch, gnawing happily on his treasure.

Dany laughed, snagging him by the back of his neck for another kiss. “I’m fine with what you’ve brought me.”

“So, um…” Jon fumbled a bit with his coffee, twisting the lid around a few times on the cup. He blew out a breath, shifting on his feet. Dany waited, knowing he would eventually get the nerve to say what he wanted to say. It just took him some time. “Uh…I was thinking…we have an extra few days next week, because of finals and stuff…”

“Hmm.”

He shifted again, before smiling, nervous. “Would you like to come to the Wolfswood with me? There are these cabins you can get in there, kind of in the middle of the forest and the snows are really pretty, there’s hiking but there’s also tons of history at Torrhen’s Square nearby and…”

“Yes,” she blurted, before she even had a chance to think it through. Dany moved towards him, arms going around his neck, hugging tight. “Yes, I want to go with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Jon flushed pretty pink on his pale cheeks. “Okay,” he whispered, before he kissed her again. They wrapped themselves up in each other, knocking into her kitchen counter, before a very long and dejected whine tore them apart. She laughed, while Jon shot an annoyed look at his dog, who had placed his head atop the back of her couch, only his eyes and ears visible to them, staring. He growled. “I’ll leave the beast with my cousin.”

“No don’t do that,” she laughed. “He’ll be fine. Won’t you sweet boy?”

“He is most definitely _not_ sweet.”

_Ghost was the sweetest dog—wolf—she had ever met and would certainly prove to be more than just sweet, especially at the end of that following week. In a way, he helped her, Dany thought fondly, not just to cope with a rather unpleasant surprise, but to remind her of why she had fallen for Jon in the first place._


	2. the prince and the press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple escapes together; Dany gets a rude introduction to Jon's identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I meant to get this up yesterday but I think my computer decided to get COVID because when I opened up the document I had lost almost all of what I had worked on yesterday morning including the end of this chapter and most of the next (sobs). So the third and final chapter with the resolution will be delayed. Hopefully Monday?
> 
> Enjoy!

The Wolfswood Forest was probably the most idyllic place Dany had seen, complete with snow-capped mountains in the distance, pine trees taller than any building she’d seen with trunks almost as wide as a car and needles as long as her arm. They were the loveliest shades of deep green, some almost black. The main entry to the forest required a pass or otherwise some sort of entrance fee, but she hardly paid attention, too enamored by the gorgeous scenery as Jon drove his Range Rover through one of the less busy entrances.

“The forest is technically part of the Winterfell Estate, but locals are allowed to camp and hike, there’s also the cabins you can rent, but we’re staying at one that my family actually owns,” he explained, driving the winding road through the forest, glimpses of some of the cabins showing through the thicket of pine. He pointed out to her some clearings, including one where there was allegedly a major battle in the medieval times. “They called it the Battle of the Bastards.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” The simple question garnered her an almost thirty-minute explanation, which only had her smiling. It wasn’t that she wanted to know—she did of course—it was just a sure-fire way to get Jon to actually speak in complete sentences, with more than one or two-word sentences. It afforded her time to watch him, smiling knowingly, her fingers playing with the bun at the nape of his neck while he explained to her about the so-called “Battle of the Bastards.”

He loved telling her about the history of the North, his eyes lighting with excitement, hands waving as he got into the people, the times, and the implications of every past historical decision, for “understanding the past will allow us to understand the future,” he always said. They made their way by a few trailheads, some of the parking lots littered with cars, but she saw few people. It might have been because it was so damn cold, a recent snowstorm having blown through the area, warding off weekend hikers and only attracting the more serious types.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched a black car keep pace with them, turning when they turned, but never getting close. She frowned, pointing to it. “Do we have a tail?” she wondered. “Where are they going, you think?”

“Dunno, there’s some other cabins here.” Jon leaned over her to point, excited again and pointing. “Look! Stag!”

“Oh!” The valley opening beneath the curve of the road revealed itself beyond several tall pines, with a gorgeous ten-point buck standing in the middle, like he was just waiting for her. She pressed her nose against the window, laughing, unable to believe there was something so pristine left in the world, when so much of the world’s most glorious natural sites were covered in development. Even the Great Grass Sea in Essos had its fair share of trashy gift shops and overhyped hotels.

The valleys disappeared as they drove through more trees, until Jon pulled up a driveway to a small single-story log cabin, with an evergreen front door and a double chimney. There was a porch stretching around it, a wall of chopped wood on one side, and a stone walkway from the driveway up to the porch. Dany could not contain herself, launching from the car with Ghost behind her, laughing and jumping in the snow, falling backwards and forgetting the fact that it was _freezing_ , but it certainly did not seem that way, with the sun blinding off the pristine white drifts and the lightness of her heart in her chest.

Ghost flew through the snow, the most rambunctious she had ever seen the pup, clearly in his element, snow sticking to his coal-black nose and his red eyes the only visible part of him as he rolled and tunneled through the fluffy powder. She swung her arms and legs back and forth, creating an angel, something she had never been able to do in Essos. Snow was foreign to her there, she had seen some on a trip to the Vale she’d taken when she was a child, with Rhaegar, but that was in. This was the first time she’d truly _enjoyed_ it.

And really enjoyed the company.

Jon fell over her, trapping her between his hard, warm body and the snowy earth, grinning against her mouth, his fingers reaching for hers. Unlike her, he didn’t wear any gloves, his fingers curling through her woolen-covered ones, clutching as he pinned her down. She giggled, his nose cold against hers. Her hips twisted against his, layers of puffy coats, scarves, thermals, and jeans weighing them down, but it was clear to them both what they wanted. He kissed her gently, painstakingly sweet, before whispering. “I want to show you something.”

“Show me everything,” she whispered, staring into his eyes, the steel irises thin around expanded black pupils, chips of onyx peering into her very soul. She squeezed his hands as best she could in her thick wool gloves. Dany wanted to see it all, every piece of this magical place he happened to call home.

Which he certainly did.

They started after emptying the car, starting a fire in the hearth. The cabin was only one room, spacious with a small kitchenette in the corner, a bathroom that had a sunken marble tub and wide skylights, both of which Dany planned to take full advantage of while they were there. The bed was a four-poster with thick flannel quilt and fluffy pillows, and there was a large couch turned to the fire. She didn’t think she’d been somewhere quainter and more relaxing. Not even Rhaegar’s massive castle-like estate on Dragonstone, which she had always thought was comforting to her, with its great fireplaces and cozy little reading nooks hidden in the walls .

He led her around through the trail wending its way through the forest, Ghost running ahead of them, barking at squirrels, birds, or anything that seemed to challenge him in his pursuits. Dany huffed and puffed, thighs and calves burning with the exertion of hiking over the snowdrifts, and her arm clutched around Jon’s during some rather slippery areas of the path. “Are you taking me out to kill me?” she wondered at one point, it felt like they’d been hiking for over an hour.

The sun was even beginning to go down, worrying her just a bit. She didn’t want to be stuck out here with no provisions, especially since it was getting colder the less daylight there was in the sky.

Jon laughed, pushing by a large frond of tree. “No, I’m not doing that, it’s not far, just a few more minutes.”

“I feel like you _just_ said that.”

They laughed together, his calmness, his absolute elation at being in nature seeping into her. She could not stop smiling, even as her the apples of her cheeks turned rosy red and her throat hurt from inhaling the cold air. They came upon a couple hikers at one point, Dany smiling at them politely. “Hello!” she greeted, waving.

“Hi! Can you tell us which way to the Howling Pass Trailhead?” one of them asked, a young man, while his companion remained quiet, studying Jon with an odd look on her face.

Dany glanced at Jon, as she had no real idea. Jon cleared his throat, not looking directly at them, gesturing towards the trail, where it branched off from where they’d come from. “Take the right fork there, about a mile hike and then there’s a sign.” He frowned a little more, cocking his head. “You realize you’re on private property, right?”

The woman giggled, shaking her head. She had a slightly maniacal gleam to her eyes. “Ramsay I told you we were in the wrong place!”

“Don’t call the cops on us,” the man, Ramsay, chuffed, pulling on his companion’s arm. “Come on Myranda. Thanks, by the way!” He gave a slightly sneering smile, which had Dany’s skin prickling. _Very odd_ , she thought, waving them off and waiting to see them disappear down the path.

Jon stayed behind for a moment, nudging her forward, Ghost waiting ahead, his ears pricked up, a curl on his lip. That should have alerted her, she thought, noticing Ghost’s discomfort. “You go on ahead, I’ll make sure they go the right way.”

“Sure. Come on Ghost!”

About fifty yards ahead, she paused, glancing back to see Jon coming towards her, placing his phone in his pocket. “I didn’t know you got service this far up here,” she laughed. She smirked. “Some super important history department emergency?”

He nipped at her pouting lower lip, tugging her to him. “Never you mind. We’re almost there anyway.”

“Again, I feel like you’ve said that before.”

“Hush.”

They kept walking, hiking up through the snow, and she put the strange couple they’d encountered out of her mind, because she wanted to focus on him and only him. She continued to rib him a bit, until he nudged her again, arm going around her waist. “Here.” He stopped, grinning. “We’re here.”

Dany stopped teasing him long enough to turn, to see what caught his attention, her mouth falling in shock. She hadn’t heard the sounds, her blood busy filling her ears from pumping so hard, but now it was all she could hear. All she could even see as well, the crevice in the mountains revealing twin waterfalls, pouring into a pool of water, steam rising from the water into the cold air, creating the illusion of an oasis in the desert. Except it was no desert, it was a secluded winter wonderland, she thought. She stared at it, unable to stop, it was just so _beautiful._

It became clear that he was watching her, a pink flush appearing on her cheeks at being on such display. She glanced sideways, eyelids dropped, peering through her lashes. He was looking at her, gazing at her with a wide-eyed stare, like he’d never seen her before. “What?” she murmured, lightly pushing her hair from her eyes, worried she might have been sweating too much, her beanie slicked to her head, her hair astray.

He shook his head, walking towards her. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed.

The praise he gave her sometimes made her feel self-conscious, but it was no more than how he felt when she commented on his attractiveness. Dany grinned, glancing at the falls again, before she stepped to him, at the same time he moved to her. “This place is beautiful,” she said. “We could stay a thousand years.”

“We’d be pretty old.”

A soft laugh slipped her lips, as he pulled her into his arms, his lips warm against her chapped, cold ones. Any numbness in her toes, fingers, or elsewhere in her body thawed with his kiss, his arms wrapping her tight to him, and she fell completely into him, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky.

That evening she wondered it more, after they got back to the house, when he went to make dinner, Ghost still wandering out in the woods; “He likes to find his own fun when we’re up here, he’ll be back soon, don’t worry about him”, was all Jon said about the matter. She went into the bathroom, closing the door and tugging open her bag, rummaging through with what she was looking for.

As hungry as she might have been, she did not want to wait any longer. She cleaned up her face, swept her hair back over her shoulders, and changed out of her sweaty flannels, wool, and jeans, grabbing one of his shirts she’d nicked, buttoning it up over her bare chest and a pair of red panties that had been an impulse purchase when shopping for this particular trip.

“Here goes nothing Dany,” she mumbled to her reflection in the mirror, sweeping the door open and stepping out.

It had the desired affect; jaw dropping. Jon had immediately turned off the oven, leaving whatever he was making on the counter and wandered towards her, staring at her with that intense gray gaze that made her toes curl and her skin prickle, all tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She gasped when he grabbed her around the middle, lifting her up to him, and she ground her hips against his, unable to stop herself, sobbing into his mouth when his fingers, hot and fast, skimmed up her sides beneath his shirt, his hands instantly splaying over her back, walking them towards the bed.

They tumbled in a tangle of limbs, mouths moving fast and hard, unable to stop the rising emotions, the intense need and feeling that this had been months in the making. Dany sobbed when he parted the shirt, revealing her skin inch by torturously slow inch. His mouth trailed over the pulse of her neck, to her collarbone, and through the valley between her breasts, before those perfect lips closed around one swell and then the other, his fingers moving along the inside of her thigh, teasing so slow she thought she would faint from the combinations of sensations, the intensity of his mouth and the featherlight of his fingers.

She sobbed out his name, consumed with the tingling pressure of pleasure, her skin hot as fire, hotter even when his mouth blazed over her belly, dipping his tongue briefly into her navel to swirl around before he nibbled a path lower, tracing that slick tongue along the hem of her panties. “Jon,” she begged, twisting her hips, unable to stop her growing want, the silky fabric now damp with her need. He smiled into her skin, murmured something about being impatient, and then his mouth closed over her, tongue pressing where she most wanted.

It was unbearable, what he was doing to her, but she craved it nonetheless. Her fingers tangled in his luscious curls, the tie he used to keep them held from his face somewhere on the floor with her panties and shirt, and some of his clothes, but he was still in his boxers, which upset her immensely, as she tried to reach for him, but his arm locked over her hips, pinning her down as he tortured her, for he was surely doing so. Quite superbly as well. Dany had never had someone so in tune with her body, his tongue—which he always kept locked back behind his teeth—was doing torturous things to her, sliding along, lapping, licking, and nibbling as his free hand gathered her wetness, spreading it along her slit and circling it around the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. He was _amazing_ at this, she thought vaguely, shoulders lifting from the bed just enough to watch; she came almost right then, seeing his now black gaze staring up at her, clearly enjoying her response to him.

They kissed messily, after she’d shattered against him, her legs trembling, one of his shoulders wedged under her knee, her heel draped across his back and the other somewhere up near her ear, still held back by his hand. Dany could hardly whisper that she needed him, that she had to find out what he tasted like too, since he’d gotten his fill. Except he had other plans, settling in between her legs again, breaking from the kiss to lick a path to the racing pulse on her neck, murmuring. “You sure?”

She laughed, the absurdity of the question forcing her to glanced sideways, her arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his heated skin. “Jon, please, if you don’t do this, I will leave right now.”

He chuckled, pressing his nose to hers. “And how are you going to get back?” he mumbled over her mouth.

“I’ll walk.”

“Hmm, I’ll send Ghost after you.”

“Then fuck me you stupid man.”

His eyes went blacker, which she hadn’t thought possible, and he kissed her again, rising over her, before reaching between them, lining his cock up with her entrance. She sobbed out at the first bit, stretching her wide—it had been some time—except the feeling was so deliciously good, she cried out again, strangled sobs when he pushed into her, his body tensing with the same feeling, she imagined. His voice was tight, strained. “Fuck Dany, you’re so tight…so good.”

“So good,” she repeated, agreeing, back arching off the bed, her breasts flat against his chest, sweat clinging to their skin and binding them together. She swiveled her hips up, taking him back in, from tip to root as he pulled out slightly, the sudden emptiness as torturous to her as having him all the way in her, but she wanted that feeling more. “Oh Jon, don’t do that,” she laughed. She gripped his face, nails digging into his scalp, bucking her hips against him again. He chuckled, sliding back in, slow again, with just a bit more force when she sucked him back inside. She groaned. _Too slow._ She began to beg, needing all of him. _Now._

Enough of the slowness, there would be time for that later. They began to move against each other, needing the speeding heat and intensity between them, their hips beginning to slam obscenely against each other, her cunt sopping, sucking him in with each thrust into her. His thumbs pressed into her thigh, angling her leg higher so he could slide deeper inside of her, if that was even possible. He hit the spot inside of her, which had her seeing stars, her vision blacking out, mouth opening in a strangled cry, as his other arm wrapped under her opposite thigh, forcing her knee over his elbow. “Jon,” she repeated, hearing him repeat her name back to her, in between gasps, as the same intense pleasure began to overtake him, his movements growing jerky and uncoordinated.

She couldn’t take it, when he pressed his thumb against her clit, circling it and flicking at it quickly, which was enough for her. Dany came with a wail, her walls fluttering and clamping down around him, pulsing around his thick length inside of her, pinning him in place as she rode the waves, each one harder and seemingly endless. _Oh fuck_ , she idly thought, as she kept coming, bucking against him still, her body twitching beneath his, while he kept moving above her, and it wasn’t long after, as she sucked at the hollow of his throat, his forehead pressing onto her shoulder and his fingers branding her soft skin, that he came too, a groan of her name and few hard remaining thrusts into her.

He flooded her, his release hot and pulsing inside of her, and she squeezed around him again, milking it from him, not letting him go, even when he sagged towards her, and tried to roll off. _No_ , she thought, clutching him, her leg lifting to hook over his hip. She dragged her nails over his spine, bumping along his vertebrae and shivering muscles, to idly land her palm on his shapely bottom, slapping at it with a smile. He jerked his head up, laughing. “Fuck,” he mumbled, falling against her again.

“You can say that again,” she whispered, eyelids dropping, too tired to keep them open. The chill in the cabin began to get to her, as the adrenaline wore off and the sweat on them both began to cool. Except she couldn’t possibly move, not feeling this sated. He was softening inside of her, but she didn’t want him to leave. It was too comforting.

Jon had the same idea, reaching for the flannel quilt, tugging it up over them. He nuzzled into her for a moment before he climbed out of the bed, leaving her wanting with a soft groan as he left her. He went into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a cloth, which she used to clean up, before throwing it to the side and reaching for him. He obliged, climbing beneath the covers again and gathering her into his arms. She tucked against his side, nuzzling his chest, idly kissing what she could reach. He dropped his chin to the top of her head, whispering. “Dany.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to leave this cabin.”

She smiled, in complete agreement, but too tired to say anything. All she did was kiss him once more, falling asleep against him, but he remained awake, his index finger dragging circles along her exposed shoulder, occasionally dipping into her hair to curl around her straggly braids. As she fell asleep, she thought she heard him whisper something about being sorry, about wanting to stay with her forever and never leave, but it was most likely just her exhausted mind making things up.

Looking back of course, he did say that, because he was terrified, she was going to leave him. So many people had left Jon, he was quite a lonely person, and Dany thought on the moment and realized that for the first time in his life, Jon was with someone who saw him for who he was, for _Jon_ and nothing more. The sweet, kind, awkward, and thoughtful Jon. With his dark sense of humor, his love of nature and history, and his clear devotion to those he cared about.

It was the last time they would be _just_ Jon and _just_ Dany. She probably should have savored it more, because things were certainly going to change.

~/~/~/~

The following morning, after they’d taken each other a couple more times in the night, including once in the giant sunken tub beneath the nighttime sky—Dany had intended on using both after all—she was the first to awake, because Ghost was nudging her hand, likely wanting someone to open the door for him. He’d joined them in the early morning, scratching at the door to come in, and then gone to sleep before the fire.

She climbed out of bed, kissing Jon’s brow, his body twisting in the sheets, likely seeking her warmth, as he had pinned her to the bed after their previous round of activity, where he’d taken her like a damn beast, a wolf even. To know her sweet awkward Jon was quite an animal between the sheets did things to her she didn’t realize she was even attracted to, but to know she knew about this side of him gave her a tingle between her legs, wanting to continue exploring it.

Except she thought perhaps she might surprise him. Dany remembered where the little general store was, he’d pointed it out to her as they drove up, and she wanted to get them some fresh coffee, maybe some pastries even if they had any. Then she’d surprise him, and they could continue exploring each other. She dressed quickly and snagged his car keys, whistling for Ghost, who had rushed out when she opened the front door. “Come on boy,” she called, opening the door for him.

Ghost hopped into the passenger seat, a fluffy white co-pilot, pressing his nose against the window and staring at the passing trees while they drove to the store. Dany parked, thinking it a little odd that there were a lot of cars on the road and in the lot, especially for a Saturday morning. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked up into the store, leaving Ghost int eh car. He was whining oddly, scratching slightly, trying to get out. “Don’t worry boy, I’ll be right back,” she promised.

Dany entered the store, picking up a basket and walked down an aisle, pleased to see there was a little bakery section with fresh cider donuts and fritters. She got a few and then two large coffees, placing them carefully in her basket. She went up to the counter to pay, only to stop hard when someone cut in front of her, almost knocking her coffees aside. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, scowling at the man. She blinked; it was the same man from the trail yesterday. She pointed to him. “You were on the trail yesterday?”

“Say cheese!” he exclaimed, snapping a photo of her with his phone, laughing and running out. “Myranda, I got it!”

“What on…” Dany gaped, stunned, when she saw people suddenly climbing out of the cars, cameras up and trying to get her photo. She couldn’t understand what was happening, shoving her basket onto the counter and trying to duck her head, her hair a bit knotted from tossing about the bed and tangled from Jon’s fingers and she was wearing his shirt over her jeans, along with his coat. She tried to push away from people, terrified at what was happening.

Her heart caught in her throat, sweat pooling on her palms, an overwhelming claustrophobia overtaking her as she tried to get through the crowd of cameras to the car, while they shouted things she couldn’t understand, that made absolutely no sense.

“How long have you been with Prince Jon?”

“Are you his latest squeeze?”

“Has he brought you home to the King yet?”

“What’s Princess Sansa say about her cousin dating a foreigner, Essosi at that?”

“He a good lay?”

“How’d you guys meet, you trying to become the next Princess of Winterfell?”

_Prince Jon? King? Princess? Winterfell?_

Dany cried out, when someone knocked against her and she saw suddenly it was because Ghost had gotten out of the car, his massive paws knocking one of the photographers aside, snarling at them to get back from her. “Good boy,” she whispered, trying to get away, to get to the car, when another car, a black SUV with tinted windows, flew up and to a stop, gravel spraying. A tall woman with cropped blonde hair launched from the passenger seat, beating back the photographers, shouting at them and grabbing for her.

She tried to push the woman away, until the clipped King’s Landing accent of the woman sounded in her ear: “Relax Daenerys, my name is Agent Brienne Tarth, I am one of Jon’s bodyguards, I’m going to take you back to him.” She pushed people aside, getting her to Jon’s SUV. “Back off! Leave her alone!”

Another car appeared, two others getting out in black suits and glasses, immediately containing the crowd of the photographers, which now also included employees from the store and hikers that had stopped there before starting their hikes, snapping pictures and murmuring among themselves.

Dany got into the SUV, her hands shaking, and her teeth chattering. She was in shock, she thought numbly, she was going into shock. “I’m going into shock,” she mumbled.

“Seven hells.” The woman—Brienne—grabbed for a blanket that was in the backseat, wrapping it tight around her. Ghost moved to wedge himself between her feet and the dashboard, which did not give him a lot of room, but it was fine by her, because his warm, soft body was essentially covering hers, his head going to drape over her arm. Brienne spoke, while she swung the SUV out of the lot and back to the road. “I know this is quite a shock, obviously, and I do apologize. The prince realized you were not at the house and the car was missing, he called us to find you. There’s a tracker on it and we found you, but unfortunately did not realize that the couple on the trail yesterday had already posted online that His Royal Highness was in the area.”

_Prince…Royal Highness…_

Dany felt her phone in her pocket, buzzing silently. She was in a fugue state, everything fuzzy around her head, wrapped in cotton and limbs jerky. The phone screen had a picture of Jon and Ghost, something she and switched out to just yesterday, from their hike. She swallowed hard, coughing at the strength it took to do a simple, automatic action. There was a text from Missandei and she opened it, unsure what she was staring at, from the Raven post Missandei had shared with her.

It was her. Her shocked face in the general store, bruises blooming along her neck and chest, with obvious love bites from Jon’s many attentions to her last night. Her hair was an absolute catastrophe, his shirt overlarge on her, and her mascara smudged around her eyes, portraying a raccoon-like look. She covered her mouth with her hand, sobbing at the accompanying caption:

_Prince Jon’s got a new girl! Mystery woman seen with Prince at the reclusive prince’s known Wolfswood hideaway, looking like the wolf rode her pretty rough last night!_

There was another photo, taken from a distance, of them on the trail, through the trees, kissing, Ghost hopping nearby. She felt sick, her stomach churching bile, and she felt violated. No, she _was_ violated. These people had taken photos of her without her consent, in a private moment with Jon, and they were saying such _awful_ things!

She shoved her phone aside, unable to return Missandei’s text, burying her face into Ghost’s fur and crying the rest of the ride back to the cabin.

~/~/~/~

“Dany! Gods, I’m so sorry!

Dany wanted to hit him, she wanted to punch and scream, but all she did as she strode towards him was push him hard on his shoulders, rather weak, but he seemed weak too, stumbling back, face ashen. She sobbed, tears blurring her vision. “You didn’t tell me! You just let me think you were…you were _normal_!”

“Because I _am_ normal!” Jon laughed. He pushed his hands through his hair, sending the curls standing on end. He reached for her, grabbing her wrists before she ended up smacking him, because now she felt stronger, at least enough to hit him. He begged. “Please Dany, I…I am normal, or at least…at least I try to be normal. It’s why I live in an apartment and go to school and…and walk my own fucking dog.” He reached for her face, pulling her towards him, whispering. “It’s why I love you.”

_Love!?_

She jerked against him, pushing him hard from her, ignoring the calls from Jon and storming into the cabin. “How can you say that you love me after what just happened?” she yelled, storming for the bathroom and beginning to throw things into her bag. She stole a glance to the bed, with its rumpled sheets, tangled in ropes hanging off the bed from their lovemaking the night before. If she had just stayed there…if she had just stayed in that damn bed with him, woken him up with kisses and maybe…

The pain stabbed at her heart again, a question rising to the forefront, blurting forth as she held a hairbrush in one hand and her toiletry bag in the other. “If this hadn’t happened…when were you going to tell me Jon?” she demanded. She stared at him, the pain in his eyes and the way he rubbed at the back of his neck. She had known him long enough now to know that when he did that it meant he was nervous, it meant he was scared, and something was truly weighing on him. As it rightfully should be. He had betrayed her, she thought, shaking her head, whispering. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie…I…” Jon trailed off on his excuse, because even he had to know how pathetic it sounded. Dany could hardly stand to hear him anymore, but she rooted in place, unable to move as he reached for her, his hands going to frame her face, his gray eyes no longer cool, but deep pools trying to reach for her, to suck her in, and get her to stay, to listen to him. He made a sound like a sob, throat bobbing and constricting, voice hoarse. “Dany I’m not…I’m not my family and I never wanted to be, believe me. I’m not even in the line, I’m…I’m fourth in line for the throne, sixth if they finally let my sisters have a chance…I’ve never been…they didn’t hunt me like they have recently because Robb got married and then I’m the next one.” He spit out his anger. “I’m the hot Prince Jon, the mysterious single royal that all the women want. Except I don’t want that! I never did!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“But it does, please Dany listen to me!”

“I don’t know if I can Jon!” She turned away from him, setting her things into her bag haphazardly, wanting to just get out of the cabin, to get away from _him._ Except she couldn’t, when he reached for her again, his fingers gripping her shoulders, forcing her in place. She begged. “Jon please.”

“Please Dany, I know I shouldn’t have said it, but…but I do love you.” Dany cried out, the words lashing her, leaving a hot brand on her skin. Jon gripped her harder, forehead falling against hers. “I have loved you since you fell in that bush, since Ghost knocked you down and since you would rather fall into a bookcase than get help from someone. I love you, I…I fucked up, I know I did, I should have told you, but you didn’t know who I was.” He was rambling, words falling from his lips one after the other, more than he’d probably ever said in a single moment, his Northern burr so thick she had to focus to make out what he was saying, the endings of the words dropping as he tried to say what his mind wanted him to get out.

Except all it did was hurt her, opening the knife wounds in her heart into full on gashes, because she loved him too, she was sure of it. Dany wasn’t sure when her feelings had turned from attraction for her sweet, awkward neighbor into full on love. Perhaps when they took that trip to Hardhome, seeing his passion for history and also for the people beyond the wall. Or maybe when she found out he was friends with someone he arrested. Or was a military man, hiding his service out of fear she might think differently of him. She just knew she did love him.

There were two men she had loved before Jon but looking back it wasn’t like how she felt for him. Drogo was her first love, but it was a foolish feeling for someone who she was rather meek and timid with until she learned to come into her own. Daario loved the idea of her, he loved what she could provide him. Jon loved Dany. Not Daenerys, not someone with a little trust fund from her family’s former glory days, but Dany.

She sniffed, shaking her head, trying not to fall back into him, as much as her body wanted it, as her heart wanted it. “If you loved me, you would have told me you were a _bloody_ prince!”

“I know! I know I fucked up; I just know that if I told you that you wouldn’t have wanted to be with me!” Jon exclaimed.

She shook her head. “That’s not true, but we’ll never know, will we Jon? Because you didn’t tell me.” That was the crux of it, after all. She closed her eyes, too tired to cry anymore, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go home. Not home to Queenscrown, to her apartment across the hall from his, in the freezing North, but back _home._ To her mother and her brother.

Ghost moved around between them, sitting on her feet, leaning his heavy, warm body against her knees. Her fingers dropped to dig into his neck, curling around his collar, not to push him away, but to hold him steady. He nuzzled her hand, eyes closing, and she felt his comfort, his steadiness. Part of her knew what Jon was saying, understood it. She shook her head from side to side, slow and then speeding up. “No, I can’t.”

“Dany,” he sobbed, reaching for her again.

“No.” She pushed by him, to get her coat.

“Please Dany! Just…look!”

For reasons unknown, she turned, even though she shouldn’t be giving him anything else. Not after what had happened. Her entire life was upended. Gods, she had _slept_ with a Prince. She had fallen in love with one. With the pomp and circumstance and the _your highness_ and _royal_ and all it entailed. She glanced over her shoulder, turning her face when he leaned his arm around to show her his phone. She took it, unsure what she was looking at.

And she blinked, realizing it was a family photo, on the balcony at the castle—Winterfell—one of those yearly events she remembered reading about, where they all gathered. There was the whole family, the King and his lovely wife, standing in the forefront, flanked by the heir—they called him the Prince of Wolves—with his modelesque wife. The redheaded and cold Princess Sansa, a surly Princess Arya in a suit rather than a dress, and the younger sons, Bran and Rickon. They were waving, with a few other nobles behind them, including the Princess Arya’s longtime boyfriend, who she vaguely remembered was from the Stormlands, but she couldn’t remember his title.

Things she didn’t know or understand because she was not from this strange land, did not follow this family or their day-to-day lives like some people. So even if she had seen the picture, she wouldn’t know to look behind the family and to the left, where there stood a dark-haired man in black military dress uniform, his curls tamed from his face, beard cropped and eyes barely visible under the visor of his uniform cover.

“I am the bastard son of Princess Lyanna of House Stark, the royal family of the North,” Jon said, clear derision in his snappish words. Dany listened, his phone loose in her fingers, as he moved around to stand before her, earnest, begging her to listen. He laughed, a bark not unlike Ghost. “My father, gods only knows who he is, because my mother refused to name him. It didn’t matter though, because my family might call me Jon Stark, but I’m really a Snow. I’m not good enough for them, it’s why _I_ should have been King after my mother died, but it fell to the next son, to my uncle, and yeah, he took me in and raised me as his own, but I’m never good enough for them. It’s why I went into the military it’s why I try to stay as far from their bullshit as I possibly can, until the media decides it wants a piece of me.” He took a breath, begging again. “But that isn’t me, Dany. I don’t want that life. I just want you.”

_And yet you didn’t tell me._

She shook her head, unable to look him in the eye; she had to get out of there, she needed to _think._ She loved him, she knew she did and she knew he loved her, from the way he was begging, and she highly doubted he had ever begged for anything in his life. “I need to think,” she whispered, tears swimming in her eyes, before they began to fall down her face, no amount of blinking stemming them back. She cried, because it had been so perfect, lying in his arms and feeling his fingers in her hair, laughing with him and realizing that you could love someone who was also your friend. She pressed his phone into his hands, breaking from him.

Hand over her mouth, Dany grabbed her bag and her coat. She didn’t realize she was still wearing his shirt, until much later. Just as she didn’t realize that he was walking with her towards the porch, his arm around her shoulders. Jon no longer said anything, dejected, realizing he could not apologize any longer or try to convince her, because she had made up her mind. “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, gazing down at her again, one last attempt, just one. He traced his fingers along her cheek, forehead pressing to hers, a breathy kiss touching her lips. He rasped. “Dany.”

She barely returned the kiss, it hurt too much. “I love you too,” she replied, swallowing hard, knowing the light jumping in his irises thought that meant she might stay. She shook her head again, emotion cracking through her voice. “I need to think. Please. Just…let me think Jon.”

“Take Ghost.”

 _Huh?_ She blinked, one step away from him, looking back, seeing Ghost whining in the open doorway. “What did you say?”

“Take Ghost, you need him, please.” Jon jerked his head towards her, Ghost snapping his jaws and jumping towards her. He sent his hair flying again, another hand through it. “Take him with you, wherever you’re going to go.”

Dany couldn’t protest, since Ghost had already run off to the car, waiting with the engine running. It seemed his _staff_ was already prepared. No doubt they’d heard everything from inside the house. She stiffened, uncomfortable. Such a private moment destroyed, a private getaway now on the pages of gossip blogs and being re-squawked all over Raven. “Goodbye Jon.” She was sure that she would be able to contact him somehow, later. If she couldn’t, at least he could find her. He was a fucking Prince.

Jon walked behind her to the car, trudging in the now dirty snow, trampled by all the people coming back and forth to the porch and cars, from her race to the door less than an hour ago. “Brienne will make sure you’re wherever you want to go,” he said, whispering, nodding to the woman who was at the car. He reached for her, one last kiss, achingly soft, just the barest hint of hope.

Dany still wasn’t sure what the hope was for. She nodded, not looking back at him, and climbed into the backseat of the SUV. She wanted to say she would call him, but that was probably a lie. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled from the adrenaline crash and the cold seeping in through the door. “Goodbye Jon.” She laughed, gazing sideways. “Or is it Prince Jon?”

He shook his head, too exhausted to say anything else, his brow wrinkled in pain. It was a low blow, a cheap shot, but one she felt she had to make, just so he realized how grave this entire situation happened to be. “I’ll fix this,” he said, earnest.

“I don’t know if you can.”

That was all she said, closing the door and leaning back in the seat. Tears continued to fall silently, thankfully Brienne said nothing as she drove away, until eventually they left the park, about to get to one of the main roads. “Excuse me, Ms. Targaryen, where would you like to go?” the agent said, in her formal Southern accent.

Dany looked at Ghost, his soft head in her lap, red eyes rolling up to meet hers. She stroked his fur, before she turned to look out the window, at the snowy Northern landscape. _Anywhere but the North._ “Dragonstone,” she answered. The island where her brother lived and worked was as close to Essos as she could get, for now. It would be better for Ghost probably too. “I want to go to Dragonstone.”

Brienne nodded smartly and lifted her phone, beginning to make arrangements. Dany leaned forward and buried her face into Ghost, his coarse tongue lapping at her tears.


	3. the prince and the dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany escapes to Dragonstone but Jon doesn't let her go that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all that I had written for this chapter disappeared when my computer decided not to save it along with most of the previous chapter. Because of that I was trying to recreate what I'd already written and then lots of it just go away from me. I also wanted to try to wrap this up too so I could focus on _the secret garden_ update.
> 
> There WILL be an epilogue! Just not sure when I'll post it, maybe later this week.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“I mean, I just cannot get over this Dany, but he actually _gave_ you _his dog_?!” 

Dany wasn’t sure what was so hard for Missandei to comprehend, but yes, Jon allowed her to take Ghost from the North with her, providing her with a private jet to the airport in King’s Landing and then a helicopter over to Dragonstone. Ghost had not been a fan of either, but since his owner was the one trying to make up for what had happened to her, she allowed the fancy plane and helicopter. Anything to get her to her family as quick as possible. And away from the North. Away from the press, the blogs, the nasty Raven messages, and the attempts by all to hack into her _one_ social media, the photo posting app InstaSnap. 

It seemed that she had become quite the talk, the more she read, consumed all night long with reading the comments, posts, articles, and staring at the photos that these people managed to uncover of her. Even on the entertainment shows they spoke about the _mysterious_ and the _exotic_ Daenerys Targaryen, Prince Jon’s newest “squeeze.” 

She scrolled through another blog post, this one from some beauty site, outlining how the readers could achieve the same silver hue as “Prince Jon’s Targaryen Mystery Girl.” Along with an accompanying piece about the history of Valyrians, which was why she had the strange looks she actually had. That article linked to another article about Sansa, Princess Royal’s, anti-immigration views and dislike for Valyrians in particular.

Missandei was still talking, saying something about how Professor Mormont was upset she hadn’t said goodbye. “But I made up some story about how you were going home for winter break early.” She paused. “And you’re coming back right?”

“I don’t know.” She hoped it would die down by the time she got back to campus after the three-week winter break. Right now it was an anomaly, something she had learned in her vast amounts of research on His Royal Highness Prince Jon of House Stark, the Duke of Winterfell, styled as Earl of Grey Hills when in the Northern region out east that had its own behaviors, and as the Baron Blackcoat when in the region known as the Neck. 

His mother died when he was only five years old, in a car accident in King’s Landing, allegedly after she had been chased by photographers, leading King Eddard to strike down many attempts by the press to get close to his family and result in Jon’s detest of the media and overt refusal to engage with them. His good looks, his military service, his mysterious air and the death of his mother, no knowledge of his father, it all created the perfect storm for the public to want to know more about him. 

Dany flicked through her tablet, resting on her knees, and Ghost at her side. They sat in one of the many reading nooks and alcoves scattered through Rhaegar’s estate. “He was always chased after, but it wasn’t until his brother got married that they really went after him,” she mumbled, repeating what Jon had told her. It seemed that yes, he had always been photographed, he was reported on heavily during various royal events he attended, but the coverage disproportionately affected his cousin Robb. That was, until Robb married, and his womanizing and partying ways died off, leaving a vacuum in juicy coverage. So they turned to the often single and reclusive—not to mention devastatingly attractive—Prince Jon.

“Prince Robb, the Prince of Wolves,” Missandei said. She chuckled. “They use that for all the heir apparent to the Ice Throne.” She paused. “I don’t get it, why didn’t Jon get to be King after his mother died?”

 _For fucked up toxic masculinity reasons._ “He doesn’t fall in the line of succession that way, because the law in the North follows the males over females, so his uncle became King instead of going to his mother’s line, even though she was older,” Dany explained. It was an archaic tradition, one that Sansa it seemed was trying to change, to give her first rights to the throne over her younger brothers. It seemed each time a male was born, Jon fell further down the line. He’d implied it was because of his bastard status, but it seemed to be more than that, although she that played a part, as old and backwards as the North seemed to behave. 

Missandei laughed. “That’s so wrong, but I guess I should have realized, from a monarchy that is only just now starting to behave like they were founded by people from another land.” She sobered up quickly. “Dany, you have to talk to him.” 

If she talked to him, she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, Dany thought. That was the problem. The problem of trying to understand this strange new world she had accidentally falling into. Except she didn’t know she was even falling into it, that was the problem too. “He took the choice from me,” she said, her phone pressed to her ear and her gaze falling on the waves crashing against the sharp jagged cliffs of the island. Somewhere through the rain that flecked over the windowpanes she could make the vague outline of the old steps that led down to a small beach. With winter upon them, it had been too cold and too wet to explore the older side of Dragonstone, but she wanted to take Ghost, once it got nicer. If she were here that long. 

Dany really didn’t know how long she should even be staying; she either had to go North to finish her program or head back to Essos. Either way she was going to be forever remembered in the annals of Northern pop history as the woman who had an affair with Prince Jon and got caught with her pants down. _At least it wasn’t that bad_ , she thought with a wry smile, scratching Ghost’s ears. 

Missandei was doing her damndest to live up to the title of _best friend_ , giving her as much support and listening to every cry that came from between her lips, but now she seemed to be turning a bit, hesitating, her voice soft when she spoke: “It sounds like he just wanted to be as he said. A normal person and it was truly a terrible thing, but he let you have his dog to cheer you up. He’s giving you space. Doesn’t that count for something?”

 _Yes._ “It’s just that he could have told me.”

“You keep saying that, but even if he did tell you the moment you met him, would it have changed a thing?” Missandei pressed. She chuckled. “Dany, you kept telling me about your cute neighbor even before you went on that first date to Hardhome with him. All you called him was ‘my neighbor Jon.’ Believe me, if I knew it was _Prince Jon_ I would have told you.”

“I just have so many questions,” she mumbled. _Why didn’t people notice us before?_ and _why wasn’t he always followed on campus?_ Silly little things that perhaps if she had noticed them, she wouldn’t have been taken aback so hard. She felt eyes on her, glancing at Ghost, who was watching her, his tail wagging slightly on the bench. She smiled, unable to help it when it came to this sweet boy. “He let me have his dog.”

“That should really be all you need to know about how he feels for you.”

“It’s not for forever.”

“No, but it’s a way so he can see you again,” Missandei teased. She laughed softly. “What’s Rhaegar think of you hiding out with him?”

“Oh he’s thrilled.” Her big brother really was excited to have her, although she was positive that if Jon showed his face on Dragonstone, Rhaegar might kill him and there would be a war with the North. She snorted, remembering the quiet rage her soft big brother exuded when it came to his baby sister. “I’m his little dragon whelp, remember? The wolf tried to hurt me, so big dragon dad is going to come in and tear him to pieces. Light him on fire and all that.”

“Gods help Jon in that case.”

“I think he will be fine.” 

Missandei could be heard smiling through the phone, Dany knew it from the lightness of her words. “So does this mean you’re going to call him? Talk to him again?”

She stared at the tablet, flicking through photos of Jon through the ages, on some sort of fansite for him. Some of him as a teenager, shy and gawky, barely smiling as he stood stoically with the other young boys at his military boarding school. Or ones of him at formal affairs, in dress uniform or tuxedo, medals gleaming on his chest. Once or twice she chanced upon a photograph of him the way _she_ knew him, playing rugby with kids at an orphanage or helping to teach at a rural school. The paparazzi photos of him showed him clearly miserable when he caught them watching him, glaring at them if he didn’t already have sunglasses on. 

There were press releases, articles, all kinds of mentions of him. She scanned one, frowning briefly. “The King ordered no paparazzi of him on campus.”

“He wanted to live a normal life, he told you that.” Missandei spoke quickly, over her when she tried to protest again. “Dany, he told you himself and you even said it. No one cared about him until Robb got married. No one really pays him attention here; I only saw him a few times myself. I think he can get away with hiding pretty well when he wants to, it’s when he brings someone new into his private world that it makes headlines. He brought _you_ into that world, he risked it for _you_. Doesn’t that mean something?”

For the past couple weeks Dany had been moping about, trying to process what everything meant, from every single angle. She had even written things up in a notebook, staring at the pros and the cons, and even in the ‘cons’ list, she still could find nothing regarding _Jon_ that was a con, because well, it was _Jon._ In all the thinking, moping, dreaming, and analyzing of the situation, she had never considered it from that particular viewpoint. To view it as Jon risking the media attention, risking bringing her into that terrifying world for him, because he liked her so much.

_He loved her that much._

“He risked it for me,” she breathed, parroting Missandei’s words back. Her friend made some sort of sound in agreement but said nothing. Her heartbeat thudded harder, beginning to speed up. She swallowed, tears rising again; she had cried so much, she wasn’t sure she had any left to give and yet somehow, she did, squeezing a couple out as she clenched her eyes shut. “I have to call him.”

“Now you’re finally talking some sense.” After swearing she would support whatever decision she made, MIssandei disconnected, leaving Dany to study Ghost’s curious look, those ruby red eyes blinking up at her, head cocked in a doggy question of ‘What now?’ “Now,” she said, leaning forward and stretching over to use his solid body as a pillow, hugging him so his head rested on her shoulder. “Now I call your stupid owner.”

Ghost huffed, which Dany could only assume meant he agreed that Jon was quite stupid. 

She picked up her phone, scanning one of his recent text messages asking if she was alright; he reached out to often, just single questions of _you okay?_ or _please talk to me._ The occasional _I really do love you._ Her thumb hovered over his name, to call him, when Ghost perked up, a knock on the door reverberating through her room. “What?” she called. 

The door opened, her big brother leaning in. He was about twenty years older than her, often mistaken for her father, tall and rather imposing, with the same sharp, blinding features common to Valyrians, silver hair always long and held from his face in a sleek ponytail, his purple eyes closer to indigo than Dany’s violet. Even in his mid-forties, he hadn’t gone soft around the middle, never one to just sit behind a desk even if Dany knew he would rather spend all day with his head in a book or playing his harp or piano than venturing into the dragonglass mines like an entry-level employee, but he did. 

Rhaegar could be downright terrifying when he wanted to be, but to her he was a giant softie. He protected her always, affectionately calling her his little _dragon whelp_. Dany still wondered why he hadn’t just gone straight North to kidnap Jon and drag him south, starting a war in the process, but he’d refrained at this time. She knew it was killing him though. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest, his thin sweater pulling on his shoulders. “I just got an interesting phone call,” he began.

Dany extricated herself from Ghost, climbing up and walking over to plug her tablet in to charge, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well whatever you came here to tease, just spit it out, I’m not in the mood.”

“We can talk about your _mood_ in a moment, this call was from the security guard at the front gate, he says there is a young man outside being quite insistent that he see you.” Rhaegar scowled, silver brows slamming to an angry point. “I told them to hold him until I confirmed with you, but my first thought is to throw him into the Narrow Sea from the Dragonmont.”

Her heart flipped, skin prickling. “Young man?” she murmured.

“Hmm, he is most insistent to see you.”

“And do I have to guess as to his identity?”

“Well you can guess, but I’m sure you know.” Rhaegar picked imaginary lint from his elbow, drawling. “I also have half a mind to lock him in the dungeons.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

He huffed, squaring off on her. “He hurt you!”

“He did, but he didn’t mean it.”

“You know that’s what Mother used to say when Father would smack her around.”

Dany almost slapped him, referring to the abuse their mother took at the hands of Mad Aerys before Rhaella gathered all her courage, determination, and left the monster before she had him involuntarily committed. Even without his mental illness, Aerys had become a weak, insecure man who thought to feel better about himself he had to slap around his wife. She glared at him, lifting her finger to jab in the center of his chest; she barely topped five feet three inches and Rhaegar towered over six feet, but she could push him around all she wanted. He stepped back slightly. “Don’t you _dare_ say those things! Jon is _nothing_ like Aerys! He loves me, he just…I just…” She sighed, closing her eyes again and reaching to press her palm to her forehead. “I need to talk to him.”

“He hurt you!”

“Rhaegar, I know!” She turned away, marching to one of the massive windows gazing upon the sea, arms folded over her chest. She felt cold suddenly, shivering. “But you can’t always go beat the shit out of any guy you think hurts me. You can’t keep protecting me like you want.”

“I can,” he mumbled. 

Dany gazed over her shoulder, smiling softly at him, shaking her head imperceptibly. “No,” she murmured. She returned to the window, sighing again. “He made a mistake, but I think I know now why he did it. I need to talk to him.” She reached back into her pocket, to take out her phone, hitting his number.

It only rang once before his frantic voice answered. “Dany! I’m here, I’m at Dragonstone, let me in!”

“You can’t just show up without warning after what you did,” she snapped; she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. She saw Rhaegar’s slightly proud smile and rolled her eyes. “Jon, what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you. It’s been weeks, I can’t keep waiting like this.”

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“No, I can’t, and I understand you can throw me into the sea for all you want, feed me to the dragons in your dungeons, whatever, but I can’t keep doing this Dany, I can’t keep waiting, I need to talk to you to say I’m…” Jon trailed off; she heard a grinding noise somewhere in the background. “Um, the gates are opening.”

She nodded, rolling her eyes as Rhaegar put his phone into his pocket and held open the door for her. He clearly had activated the gates to open. He gave her a look like “You owe me.” Maybe she did, or maybe he should have just done it anyways. “Yes, the gates are opening.”

“So…you’re letting me in?”

“Not quite.” She sighed. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” They disconnected, Rhaegar shaking his head at her again, somewhat disappointed. She really couldn’t care about if he thought she was giving Jon too much of a pass; she wasn’t. She had seen how he was when she got in that car at the cabin. He looked ready to die, but at the time she couldn’t focus on his pain, not when she had been drowning in her own. Plus, he let her have Ghost. That was enough. 

Ghost hopped down from the picture window, trotting by Rhaegar, his tail held aloft. Dany followed, brushing by Rhaegar, whose disappointment was now smothering her. She squeezed his hand, silently letting him know she would be alright. She was his little _dragon whelp_ after all, and even a whelp could breathe fire. 

It would take him time to get from the gates up the winding driveway around to the front door of the residential part of the old castle; Dragonstone had been in their family since the beginning of time, Rhaegar joked. It was where their family had made their money, in shipping and trade with Westeros. Their money had dried up several times over the years, resulting in the middle-class life she had lived, with her mother in a small little cottage in Braavos. Rhaegar had been the one to take what their family had lost and built it back up, taking the castle and retrofitting an estate on one side and the offices of the dragonglass company on the other side. 

The large double doors were painted red, because they all treated Rhaella’s small bungalow as their true home, with its red door and lemon tree in the front. Dany waited until she could see a black SUV pull up around to the front door, watching through the side window. Jon climbed out of the driver’s side and she saw him wave his hand off to a sedan behind him. _Bodyguards_ , she thought with a scoff. Brienne had seemed very capable, discreet, so she shouldn’t automatically shun the idea of them, but it was just another reminder to her that Jon was _not_ a normal man, he had to have a car shadowing him. 

He walked up to the main door, shifting on his feet, squeezing his fingers in and out into fists at his sides. An aura of nervousness wafted from him. He reached up to idly rake his fingers through his curls; they weren’t pulled in their usual half-up/half-down bun or the knot even he usually kept it in at his neck. They were wild, springing about his head in every direction. She smiled; he had no idea how attractive he was. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around a bit, shoulders hunched. Terrified, even. “Suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” she murmured, glancing at Ghost. 

Ghost whined, agreeing, nosing at the door. “Let me do it,” Rhaegar said, striding forward. 

“Rhaegar, seriously?”

“Just let me do this, come on,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He framed her face with his wide palms, smiling softly down at her. She smiled up, nodding; _fine_ , she would let him do this, but he wasn’t going to torture Jon too much. He rolled his eyes. “I won’t kill him. He is a prince after all.”

She rolled her eyes again, kissing his cheek, glancing at the door before she went into the living room in the back of the house, Ghost trailing behind her reluctantly. She chuckled down at him. “You want to go see him, huh? Well, go on!”

Ghost yipped, bouncing up onto his back legs and spun in a circle a couple times before he ran off, barking happily when he no doubt came upon his owner. Dany leaned on one of the wide windows, wondering when the rain would let up and she could go back outside, sit on the terrace in the back of the house, even in the chill. She heard footsteps behind her, eventually turning to see Rhaegar appear, Jon hovering behind him. “Dany,” he gasped, moving towards her.

“Ah,” Rhaegar exclaimed, pushing his hand on Jon’s chest, glaring. “Watch yourself.”

In spite of herself, she smiled, nodding her head towards the door. “Get out Rhaegar.”

He grumbled; another warning look shot in Jon’s direction before he stalked off. She waited a moment, before smiling awkwardly at Jon, whispering. “He’s not used to dealing with people. The Lord of Dragonstone. He’s probably a vampire.”

“He’s a big brother,” Jon whispered. 

“He didn’t terrify you too much I hope?”

“No and…I deserve whatever he wants to give me.”

 _Damn you._ Here he was all self-sacrificial, appearing to be a lost puppy who turned up on someone’s doorstep, his gray eyes wide and begging, fingers rubbing the back of his neck and his hand on his hip, index finger tapping nervously. Upon closer inspection Dany was sure he had not slept in the last few weeks, he had bags under his eyes and his cheeks were concave. His beard was rather thick and unkempt. T-shirt rumpled beneath his black leather jacket and his jeans appeared as though he had slept in them, far too many wrinkles along them, even if they were still rolled up above the tops of his boots rather fashionably. 

Dany sighed, unable to believe she was doing this, but she moved towards him; drawn to him, to his scent of pine and the fake tobacco smoke from his stupid e-cigarette he sometimes puffed when he thought no one was looking. To the cinnamon toothpaste he used and forest and leather and old books. Everything that wrapped up together to remind her of Jon. She folded into his waiting arms, eyes fluttering shut, an exhale she had been holding for almost three weeks expelling from her lungs, melting her into his solid warmth. 

He clutched her, fingers curling into her messy hair and hers dug into the base of his shoulders, the old leather of his coat creaking. Ghost forced himself between them, tail beating like a metronome between her knees and his. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked. 

Tears dropped to his shoulders. “I know you are,” she replied.

“I didn’t know if you were going to say if I…if I told you and I couldn’t…couldn’t lose you,” he stammered. Jon had said all these things, via text messages, wisely not calling her to give her a semblance of space. Dany nodded, eyes closing and dropping her forehead against his chest. Her fingers fell down to grip his wrists, squeezing. “I really do love you. I fucked it all up not telling you and I’m so sorry. Please know I was going to, at the cabin, I really was going to tell you.”

Dany pulled back slightly, peering up at him, the emotion reflecting in his gray eyes. “I love you too,” she managed to get out. 

He made a half-laugh and half-sob. “I was just so scared…”

“I know, I…I’ve been reading.”

“Oh no.”

It was only said a bit jokingly, so she reassured him by lightly dragging her fingers down his back, still enveloped in his embrace. Dany wanted to make sure he understood. “I really wasn’t sure how I felt, I just…I was so upset with you and then understanding and then…I don’t know. Missandei helped me realize that you would not have risked bringing me into your life if you didn’t truly care about me. Truly love me.”

Jon smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Remind me to thank her.”

“I think she just wants you to not hurt me,” she said, only half-teasing again. She sighed hard, barely shaking her head. “I don’t want to be famous. I hope you understand that.”

“I do, believe me.” Jon flicked one of her silver curls from the side of her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “You didn’t see me, Dany.”

“Well you knocked me down.”

He laughed. “No, I mean…” She smiled, understanding what he meant. He huffed. “You didn’t see me as Prince Jon, you saw me as Jon, it’s like I said.” He took another deep breath, frowning now. “I want to be clear that it isn’t going to be easy. The press are relentless.”

Dany rolled her eyes, whispering and ducking her head. “I know, I found blogs devoted to how to get my hair color and wondering if I wore colored contacts.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t.”

Jon scowled. “The press killed my mother, they harassed me as a kid. My uncle was good about making sure I tried to be as normal as possible, but it’s hard when you’re in school and have a security detail at the front gate. This is as close to normal as I’ve been able to live.” He fiddled with the string of her hoodie, murmuring. “I had to leave the military early because a reporter found out I was stationed Beyond the Wall. Leaked my name. It was too much for my team, so I bowed out, but I was happy there.” He sighed again. “And living at Queenscrown these past couple years, working on my degree and all, it’s been nice. It’s like they forgot about me.” He shook his head. “It’s going to be rough, but I swear I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of it.”

Dany knew she was taking a major leap with him. To put herself out there like this, to put her family out there. Rhaella, Viserys, Rhaegar, and even her father’s dark history. There would be more cameras in her face and people shouting mean things to her. She had tough skin, but it would need to become tougher. Like dragon hide. And she was a dragon. 

She leaned in and for the first time in weeks she pressed her lips to his. He gave a tiny start, surprised, but returned the kiss with a gentle press back, his mouth parting slightly for hers to deepen it further. She smiled, leaning into him and lifting a hand to cup his face, pushing back to cup his head. 

The sound of a very loud “Ah-hem!” broke them apart and Jon flushed, turning to see Rhaegar glaring at them. Dany scowled at her older brother. “Yes?” she murmured. 

“Take it elsewhere,” he said. 

Dany rolled her eyes, taking Jon’s hand and guiding him towards the stairs. “Come on. We still have to talk.”

“Keep your door open!” Rhaegar shouted up the stairs. 

Jon frowned. “Is he your brother or your father?”

“It’s hard to say sometimes.” 

“You’re almost thirty.”

“He still thinks I’m five and calling him Reggie because I couldn’t say his name very well.” Dany ignored her brother’s shouts again, bringing Jon into her room and closing the door once Ghost swished his way inside. She brought him to her favored picture window and sat back, while he shrugged off his jacket and toed off his boots, before climbing up to sit across from her. She stretched her legs, her feet in his lap and folded her hands before her, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

Jon nodded, whispering. “Okay.”

“So how do we do this?”

_Dany never thought it was going to be easy, but she had been surprised at how when they returned to Queen Alysanne’s things were somewhat the same as they had been. Except every so often someone’s phone would catch them when they were studying together or getting a coffee. It was only when they left their little bubble did things get a little dicey, but otherwise Jon kept true to his word. Dany found she loved him too much to worry about it; this was his life and she loved him. Looking back, it was like nothing had changed, and she was grateful for it. She wouldn’t trade it for anything. To the world he was Prince Jon, Duke of Winterfell, and all the pomp and circumstance, but to her he was Jon, the goofy man who had somehow captured her heart._

~/~/~/~

“I know it’s been a few weeks but I just _still_ can’t believe there’s a _prince_ in my house!”

Dany’s cheeks warmed pink with embarrassment at her mother’s behavior; Rhaella was a very intelligent woman and not prone to bouts of fancy or hysteria, and yet here she was standing in the kitchen of her small house, positively fawning over Jon. “Muna,” she warned, lifting her eyebrows, a silent request of _please stop embarrassing me!_ yet Rhaella didn’t seem to get the hint, still gaping at Jon with wide lavender eyes, her cheek in the palm of her hand, flushing.

The happiness Jon exuded in Essos paralleled only the happiness she saw in him when they were at the waterfalls, or Beyond-the-Wall. He had been excited when she shyly offered to bring him to meet her mother, after their second semester ended. Maybe even spend the summer, she’d suggested. It had taken some finagling with the man that Jon called his “Hand of the King” only teasingly, but as Jon’s private secretary, Davos Seaworth was a kind soul who clearly had his charge’s best interest at heart and had since he came into his service when Jon was only ten. 

He had worked it out logistics wise, while Dany wasn’t sure what Jon told his uncle—the King she had to keep reminding herself—but he’d appeared a couple days before end of term and announced that he was free the entire summer and they were going to _enjoy_ themselves. 

Ghost had been miserable when they left him with Tormund, but it was just for a few weeks, the both promised him. He wouldn’t like Essos, Dany told the wolf, it was hot and sticky, and he was not going to have a pleasant experience, especially on the long flight over. He seemed alright with that explanation, but still whined terribly when they’d left. It broke her heart. Once they returned, she planned to ply him with as many treats and kisses and snuggles as he could stomach.

Jon smiled shyly, ducking his head in that bashful way of his, the way that made Dany smiled sideways, reaching under the breakfast table to squeeze his hand. “Well I hope we’re not too much trouble for you,” he said.

Rhaella gave him a look warning him off. “Absolutely not! It’s been ages since my Daenerys has been home longer than a week, I am quite enjoying this.” She beamed, getting up from the table. “More tea?”

“Thank you, yes Mrs.…Rhaella.”

Dany had to warn him off calling Rhaella “Mrs. Targaryen” as he had been wont to do when they first arrived. She picked up her teacup, sipping at it while Rhaella puttered with the kettle. “Muna we’re going to take the ferry to Lorath today, would you like me to get you some more of that tea you enjoy? The one with the lavender?”

“Oh yes please. When are you both going to go to Meereen?”

“Probably next week,” Jon answered. He glanced at her, smiling again. “I’m curious to see the University of Meereen. Also the pyramid, we can go into it, aye?”

“Aye,” Dany teased, leaning to peck a kiss to his lips. She smacked hers; he tasted like the smoky tea Rhaella always had in the morning and had forced fed him instead of his usual buckets of coffee. She smiled, pushing up from the table, lightly rubbing Jon’s shoulder. “I’m going to go make sure I’ve got everything for the day.”

Jon barely glanced at her, getting up from the table to go help Rhaella with the rest of the tea. Dany was glad that he had gotten along so well with her mother, despite Rhaella’s occasionally _fangirl_ behavior. The small house outside of the limits of Braavos, in the coastlands, was her most favorite place in the world, even if since she graduated from secondary school, she had not spent much time there. She loved the sea air flowing through the always open windows, the scent of the lemon trees that scattered the walled in backyard. It was her home.

And, as she glanced back at Jon, laughing at something her mother said, she wondered if Jon was beginning to view it as one too. It had been three weeks, they’d spent time on the beach, explored all the various cannals of Braavos, toured some of the more _interesting_ aspects of the city including the House of Black and White and gone up to the top of the Titan of Braavos. They’d driven and hiked the Forest of Qohor, taken the train down to Pentos and wandered around Norvos. Jon was trying to convince her that after their time in Meereen they should do an overnight backpacking tour in the Red Waste and then drive in a Jeep to Vaes Dothrak. As little interest as she had in hanging out in the Red Waste in summer—the idea of the heat made her want to throw up—she enthusiastically agreed, because this was all for _him._

As the Northern royal family was not well known or followed in Essos, beyond a few mentions here or there in tabloids—it was mostly political families and other celebrities throughout the Free Cities that took up room in the papers—Jon had been free to essentially stand atop roofs and scream that he was Prince Jon of House Stark and _no one_ paid attention. He had even dropped Brienne and Podrick as his security detail, after they determined he would not need a two-team detail that summer. Brienne would be in Braavos, checking in on him as necessary and providing limited support when they went to Meereen or took longer trips.

Dany rummaged in her bag, making sure she had what they would need for the day trip, and went over to pick up her phone from the nightstand, glancing to see Jon’s was over on his. “Silly wolf,” she mumbled, realizing he’d forgotten to plug it in. She crawled over her bed and picked up his phone, turning it over and pressing the button to see the screensaver of the two of them and Ghost appear. 

As well a few text messages that had been unseen, all from ‘Needle.’ That was his cousin Arya, she knew, having met the young royal several times. Each one grew more impatient, as she scanned from the bottom up, complaining over how he never talked to her anymore now that he was a ‘Summer boy.’ She felt guilty, looking at his private texts, and moved to put it back, when the top one caught her eye.

_Dad is going crazy, wondering why you aren’t talking to him. He wants to know if you’ve asked yet, since you took the ring. He’s NOT happy you got it without telling him. Robb also wants to know when you propose because he wants to announce Marg is preggers. Can’t do both at same time!_

There was far too much in the text for Dany to process. She set the phone down, rather numb, going over everything in her mind. _Ring?_ _Propose?_

Nevermind that the Prince of Wolves was going to have a baby, an _heir_ if it happened to be a boy, but the _Dad_ was King Eddard and it seemed Jon hadn’t spoken to him about _fucking proposing to her._

“Oh my gods,” she mumbled, jumping to her feet and forgetting her bag, hurrying down the stairs and out the front door. She stood on the front stoop for a moment, before she turned and walked down and around the stone house, pushing through the low garden gate into the backyard and wandered through the lemon trees until she got to the back, where another gate opened onto a little rocky path that led down through some dunes to the beach. 

“Dany!”

Jon’s voice echoed down to her, but she continued to feel numb. She stood in the sand, mind absolutely racing with thoughts. It was too soon, it wasn’t time, they’d only been together not even a year, what was he _thinking_? Combined with thoughts of them being married, living somewhere together with Ghost, maybe even having a baby… _gods what was she thinking?!_ This was so unlike her! 

She turned, watching Jon jog over to her, barefoot and his jeans rolled above his ankles. “Hey,” he said, frowning at her. “I thought we were going to Lorath? Why’d you come out here?”

“Um…” Dany frowned. She shifted on her feet and glanced at the water. The Narrow Sea, stretching towards Westeros. The Vale was on the other side, from this part of Essos. Fancy ski resorts and adrenaline junkies leaping from the Moon Door at the old castle the Eyrie. She glanced up at him, figuring the truth was probably the best. She hesitated. “I saw your phone this morning.” 

“Yeah it’s on the nightstand. Forgot to charge it.”

“There was a few texts. From Arya.” 

Jon shrugged. “So? You’re upset she’s texting?”

“No, I’m…she said things…” Dany glanced up at him again, whispering. “Jon are you going to propose to me?” She blinked a few times, trying to read his expression, his face lightly tanned from the sun exposure, but now fading white, his eyes widening barely in surprise. She gulped. “Because we haven’t talk about that and I just…I don’t want you to do something that’s going to upset your family…it’s not been a year and…”

“I just asked your mom if it was okay.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Your mom.” Jon shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shifting again, whispering. “I just asked your mom if it was okay if I marry you. For your hand, I suppose.” He looked embarrassed, glancing towards the water. “I was going to wait until…until we got back home…with Ghost…um….clearly Arya has no patience.”

“Oh gods Jon.”

He reached into his pocket, removing his hand, which now held a small black pouch. Her hands went to cover her mouth, staring as he turned it upside down, dropping a ring into his palm. The morning sunlight sparkling off the sapphire in the center of the platinum band, bright blue burning hot, with a few little diamonds scattered around the band. It was twisted, she realized, the setting in a rather intricate type of pattern. He moved towards her, whispering. “I know we haven’t talked about it…like I said, I kind of wanted to wait but…I just…” He frowned again, suddenly unsure. “I know things didn’t start great. It’s hard, it’s going to still be hard, um, you know, you’d become a Duchess…with all the royal stuff and it’s not like that’s what you wanted and…and well I understand if you don’t…don’t want to…”

“Jon Snow you know absolutely nothing,” she interrupted. _You stupid, stupid, stupid man._ Tears filled her eyes, the sapphire blurring in the blue of the sea that came up to lap at their ankles in the sand. She reached for his hands, clutching, lifting her face to look up at him, at his surprised look. It may have been less than a year, but seeing him standing there, having just said he’d wanted to ask her mother if it was okay and…she couldn’t believe that she’d met him. She took a deep breath, arching her brow. “Because if you really want to ask a girl to marry you, you don’t stand there and stutter away about all the reasons _not_ to marry you. You get down on your knee and you ask her.”

He stared at her a moment and then blurted: “Oh.”

“So?”

“So?” he echoed. Dany arched her brows again, laughing, the smile pulling wide over her entire face. He exclaimed, understanding. “Oh! Oh yes! Um…” He dropped down to his knee and held the ring up, beaming. “So will you do it?”

“Will I what Jon Snow?”

“Will you marry me?”

Dany giggled, nodding, her hands lifting again to squeeze into fists in front of her mouth. “Yes,” she laughed. She nodded hard, never surer of anything in her life. “Yes I’ll marry you.” 

Jon grinned and slipped the ring onto her proffered left hand. She stared at it a bit closer now, realizing with a soft gasp that the setting was designed to look like a rose, the sapphire acting like the petals. “It was my mother’s,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. He dropped his forehead to hers, eyes closed, voice breathy. “I had to go to Winterfell to get it, in the safe we have there for all the jewels, so I needed to make sure my uncle knew. He was okay with it, I think he just wanted to meet you before I proposed.”

She glanced up, reaching to cup his jaw, whispering. “I never thought it was odd that we haven’t met yet, but…I just assumed they didn’t want to meet me. It didn’t bother me, but…”

He pinked. “I didn’t want to share you yet,” he mumbled. She quirked her lip, silently questioning. He explained. “If I brought you to Winterfell to meet my uncle—the King—it would mean that…that they now are involved. They’d want to know everything, my sister would be a cow about stuff, Robb would try to get involved too, Margaery would start to compete with you…it’s just…I wanted you for myself.”

Dany smiled again, her head now dropping to his shoulder. He squeezed her hand, holding it to his heart. “I understand…things are easier here, aren’t they?”

“In Essos? Yes.” He laughed. “I love your mother she…” He paused, squeezed her hand tight, and his voice choked a bit. “I wish you could have met her, but I am glad that you have yours.”

Rhaella was standing in for his mother too, Dany surmised, eyes closing and her arms wrapping tighter around him. “She has two sons,” she whispered. She tilted to gaze up at him again. In his stormy gray eyes, filled with so much conflicting emotion. “And I am sure she is more than happy to add another to that.” 

Jon laughed, cupping her face and kissing her, finally. Dany hummed against him, savoring the moment, the way his mouth fit so perfectly over hers, the gentleness of the initial kiss turning into something harder, more insistent as she slid her hands over his shoulders, gripping for balance as the water washed around them. She pushed her fingers up to his cheek, her arm wrapping around his neck as he tilted her jaw up so he could take more from her. She molded to his body, every inch of each other locking together, like they were made specifically for the other. 

_The gods have fashioned us for love_ , Jon told her once, when she’d asked him why he didn’t take on a bigger role in his family, why he stayed as far from it as possible. He’d said that love was the death of duty, and he would not have had it any other way. 

They broke the kiss when breathing eventually forced them to, but still remained clutched together. “I love you,” Jon murmured. 

“I love you too.” Dany squeezed his hand, peering at her ring again, at the sheer perfection of it. She looked up, shaking her head again, amused. “You asked my mother for my hand in marriage?”

“Bit old fashioned, but I wanted her to know.”

“And what did she say exactly?’

Jon laughed. “She said that if I didn’t ask you as soon as possible that she would instead, and if you made a fuss over how old-fashioned it was to get permission from her instead of just asking you, that she’d kick you all the way to Valyria and back.”

“Sounds like my mother,” Dany laughed. She pushed her fingers through his hair, kissing him once more, sighing. “Poor Ghost, he really would have liked to have been here.”

“I can ask you again in front of him, if you like.”

“Yes please.” 

They shared more giggles, kisses, and stumbled from the surf back towards the stairs, to go share the news with Rhaella, even if it was far sooner than she had been preparing herself. She got halfway up the path to the house when she froze, her face falling. “Oh Gods, Jon.”

“What?” He appeared panicked. “Are you alright?”

She whirled on him; eyes wide. “You told your uncle?”

“Yes,” Jon said, frowning briefly. He looked sheepish. “I mean…he found out after I got the ring out and Davos told him for me, I just…didn’t want him to try to force me out of it, didn’t want to hear it. Why?”

Dany shook her head. “No it’s just, you told your uncle, Arya, my mother…did you ask Rhaegar?”

Jon’s face when ashen. “Oh fuck.”

The laugh that left her could have been heard all the way to Winterfell. She pulled him towards the house, unable to contain herself. “Don’t worry Jon, Rhaegar doesn’t really like the cold, we can hide you Beyond-the-Wall, he’ll _never_ go there.”

_Looking back, it could not have been more perfect, Dany thought. It was awkward, bumbling, and unexpected—just like Jon himself was. They spent the rest of the summer in Essos, where she was a tourist in her own continent, and journeyed back to the North for the beginning of the next term. They met with his uncle, aunt, and cousins—they weren’t as scary as Jon had made her think they were, just a bit pretentious—except for Eddard and Arya. The king himself was quiet, kind, and genuinely happy for his nephew. Robb had been a bit put-out because Jon hadn’t looped him in. Once the official meeting of the King had occurred, they could announce it publicly._

_It had been very small, very old fashioned, reported in the Northern newspaper—The Winterfell Times— HRH King Eddard is pleased to announce the impending marriage of his nephew HRH Prince Jon Stark, Duke of Winterfell to Miss Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of Rhaella Targaryen, Braavos, Essos. Nothing more, nothing less. Davos had issued another statement a month or so later that the happy couple would be doing a photocall for reporters and an interview with one chosen reporter to be determined at a later date._

_And they made sure to have another proposal in front of Ghost, the way Jon had originally planned, completely with the furry fluffball walking into the apartment with a sign around his neck and holding the ring from a pouch between his teeth. He was most pleased when she said yes, hugging him first before Jon, his barks echoing loudly as he danced around them, white tail beating them as they laughed._


	4. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: And they all lived happily ever after!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, an epilogue! Didn't want to keep this fic in 'pending' status because I wasn't sure when I would finish this. Got some fanwank comments on the last chapter that put me in a sour mood and I was just not in "fandom dealing" mode for a moment, coupled with everything else going on and work decided that being at home meant MORE STUFF to do. 
> 
> Here's the epilogue enjoy! (I forgot that I initially wanted it in Jon POV, so we'll just have to guess what he's thinking, because it's still all Dany POV).

“You ready?”

The limo they were in had slowed to a crawl, coming into the line behind a bunch of others, some containing other members of the royal family. The drive from their hotel to the awards venue wasn’t very far, maybe a few miles, but for Dany it felt as though it had lasted hours. The entire time she fiddled with one of the sequined patterns on her black slinky dress, wondering if perhaps it washed her out, wondering if her shoes made her too tall, or if they made her look like she was about to go dance on a stripper pole instead of walk down a red carpet for a goodwill awards benefit. Was her eye makeup too heavy, her hair pulled too tight, her jewels too flashy? She reached up to twist at one of her onyx and diamond earrings, nodding absently.

There were flashes beyond the window, just little flickers, like a lamp with a dying bulb. They grew in intensity, until the brightness threatened to blind her even before they left the safe confines of the tinted limo windows. She would step out after Jon, so he could help her out of the car, which was more due to his chivalrous nature than for any other practical or protocol reasons.

Davos Seaworth, Jon’s press secretary and all-around fixer, had argued endlessly with the main office of King Eddard and Queen Catelyn, or Ned and Cat, as they insisted, she call them, about this particular event. She could not bring herself to say anything of the sort, so they had compromised on her just using their formal titles, His and Her Majesty. She did have to curtsey when she met them anyway, as was custom for all lower lifeforms, Jon joked. Although she knew he was only semi-kidding. It was _tradition_ , something the North could not live without.

They had done a formal photocall, as was again, tradition, in the famous Winterfell blue winter rose garden. It was an homage to Lyanna, which everyone spoke about, as well as the fact that Dany wore Lyanna’s most well-known ring, which some had hypothesized had been buried with her. A formal interview with one of Davos’s chosen reporters—Renly Baratheon, who was very discreet—followed. Dany had been terrified, but Jon coached her through it.

It wasn’t until a couple months later that Ned told Jon he needed to do a few formal events, per Jon’s _agreement._ Robb and Margaery were taking on less responsibilities as her pregnancy progressed, so it was just expected as part of the family. “The cult,” Jon called them.

Dany insisted they do everything together, as uncomfortable as a public event would make her. This was her new life, she thought, and it was Jon’s life. They would need to do things, within reason. It was what she had signed up for and she couldn’t just run away from it when things got tough. That wasn’t her nature anyway, she couldn’t have Jon without accepting what else went with him. Which happened to be a title, a castle, and a family of royals. “I’m fine Jon,” she said, warmly smiling sideways at his nervous look. She leaned over and adjusted his black bow tie, which happened to be a little crooked. There was also some white dog hair on his all-black ensemble. She giggled. “Did someone tell you that having a white dog means you are obligated to lint-roll each time you leave the house? Or else switch your wardrobe to all white?”

He chuckled, pecking her lips, even the light movement transferring some of her crimson lipstick to his. She wiped at them with her fingertips. “I guess I was distracted by you in that dress to bother with the lint-roller.”

She giggled. “It’s not too much? The stylist said that it…”

“It’s perfect Dany. Just like you.”

 _Such a prince_ , she thought, smiling again, before there was a light knock on the window, alerting them that it would open. She took a deep breath, squeezing his hand tight. “Let’s go.”

The door opened and Jon stepped out, buttoning his tuxedo jacket before he turned and leaned a hand down to help her step from the car. _Okay, do not panic, just a million people watching you and these pictures will exist for eternity_ , she thought, plastering a smile on her face, her heels hitting the soft carpet. She linked her arm into Jon’s, lifting her hand lightly in a small wave, before moving closer to him, for support as well as because she didn’t realize how _cold_ it was even for her heated disposition.

 _And you think I’d have learned by now_ , she thought with a chuckle to herself, shaking her head slightly as they walked down the carpet. She wore jewels that belonged to Lyanna Stark, as her entire collection went to Jon after she died, and he had gifted them all to her. She felt like she should have a security detail, with the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist, the onyx and diamond earrings, and a thin diamond choker with onyx detailing, that made up the set.

They walked along, having arrived first, as was protocol when Jon attended events with his brother. Robb and Margaery would come last, but they were all seated at the same table. Jon was receiving an award for his work with the Free Folk who had settled in The Gift region of the North, while Dany would give a speech about what was happening in the Disputed Lands in Essos. She was already supposed to attend, as a surveyor, which was why Davos had pulled some strings for this to be her first official appearance as the fiancée of the Duke of Winterfell.

“Tell me again,” she murmured, her teeth still clenched, and lips peeled back. “Why do they think you are more special than Robb?”

“Because Duke of Winterfell always went to the Prince of Wolves, they just never called him that. Margaery should be the Duchess of Winterfell,” he explained, when they turned from the cameras. He glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, here they come now.”

Dany gazed over to see Robb and Margaery step out of their car. They were glamorous, both with hair that shined auburn, although Margaery’s trended to chestnut. They both had flashing blue eyes and it appeared as though their cheekbones were cut from glass. She liked both quite fine, Robb was an absolute hilarity and while Margaery seemed to try to compete with her at every opportunity, Dany realized that she did it with everyone, including Catelyn. Which made for a lot of ‘Bitch Bingo’ as Arya called it, when they all got together at the castle for family dinners. Dany was pleased that she had beaten Arya twice in the last three dinners.

She waited for Davos, who appeared like a ghost out of thin air, smiling widely at her. “You look lovely tonight Daenerys.”

“Thank you, Davos, you are quite sharp, new tux?”

“Old one,” Jon answered, rolling his eyes. “I think he’s had that one since Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Says the prince who wears the same thing to every single event.”

Dany frowned, glancing at Jon’s black silk shirt, bowtie, jacket, and pants. He shrugged. His dark hair was pulled back from his face, in a sleek bun, and his beard trimmed. He wore his glasses, giving him a very professorial vibe. Which he was, technically, she supposed. She realized then that yes, in all his formal event photos, he wore some variation of the same thing. Every single tuxedo, suit, bowtie or necktie was entirely black. “It’s my color,” he said, to her silent question.

“Well look who it is, the Reluctant Prince,” Robb’s heavy Northern burr purred, forcing Dany to turn around again, to smile at him. He grinned at her, blue eyes sparkling. “Daenerys, you love absolutely lovely.”

“Your Royal Highnesses,” Dany said, curtseying like she had been taught, but not very low, since Robb was only one rung higher than Jon on the ladder. She noted that Jon’s bow was only directed at Margaery. She gripped his arm tighter. “Duchess,” she said, nodding towards Margaery. “Your gown is beautiful.” It really was, a cool mint that flowed over her like water, hugging in all the right places to show off her swelling baby bump. “And congratulations, once again.”

“Thank you so much Daenerys. You are lovely as well.” Margaery’s voice had its usual cutting edge, which Dany skimmed over, the brunette’s smile a bit sly. “Quite the event for your first time.” She winked. “You never forget your first.”

 _Oh gods_ , she thought, keeping her smile on her face before she turned to Jon, as the royal couple moved into the building ahead of them, while Jon lagged behind. “Did you hear that?” she said, laughing softly. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s typical. Robb is insanely competitive too.” He kissed her cheek, forgetting the cameras for a moment, moving a strand of hair from her forehead. He smiled, gazing adoringly at her. “You are breathtaking this evening, future Duchess Daenerys.”

She giggled. It had such a funny alliteration to it. “Thank you, Prince Jon.” She waggled her eyebrows, leaning in to kiss him, just a brief one, but leave it to Jon to make her forget where she was in the moment. It was Davos’s loud ‘ahem’ that broke them apart. She flushed, ducking her head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that brute,” Davos said.

Jon rolled his eyes, gesturing for her to step in before him. “Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” she teased back.

His lips hovered over her ear, whispering and only she heard him, trying to keep her expression steady, almost vacant, as he spoke. “Have I told you lately that that dress is absolutely killing me? I can’t wait to rip it off you when we get back to the hotel.”

If possible, she managed to keep the immediate reaction off her face, while her body responded instantly. She hoped the cameras didn’t have infrared or any other insane detection systems, because her skin went hotter than normal, her thighs pressing together at the notion of _wolf Jon_ ripping her dress off. “I think this thing costs more than my entire tuition for two years,” she murmured, eyeing him carefully.

“I can afford it.”

“And make a matching donation to a charity of my choosing?”

“My dragon, I will donate to any charity any cost of any clothing I destroy tearing it off of you.”

Dany grinned, winking at him. “We have a deal then,” she purred, letting go of his arm to stride into the banquet hall, greeting the heads of the charity’s board, slipping easily into her role as the justice-seeker and warrior that she was.

Later, she breathlessly leaned over Jon’s shoulder as he tapped away on the laptop, as he was also trying to catch his breath, anonymously contributing several thousand dollars to a hospital system in Naath, Missandei’s home country, which was desperately in need of doctors. She kissed his temple, swirling her tongue around the shell of his ear, chuckling throatily. “So how did my first time go?” she mumbled. “Good enough for the King of the North?”

He laughed, setting the computer aside and rolling onto his back, dragging her with him. “Good enough for this King in the North.”

_Later, she discovered that it had gone exceptionally well. So well in the fact that Princess Sansa demanded that she also attend a similar event in the hope it would boost her profile. Soon she had likability ratings that were the highest in all the royal family, tied only with Jon, Arya and the King, and she hadn’t even officially married Jon yet. She always said it was thanks to Davos and his exceptional PR skills, while Jon just always kissed her cheek and said it was because she was the only one who was herself, who wasn’t playing a role._

_Dany supposed so, but she still couldn’t believe it was her, on the covers of magazines and on gossip blogs. They still spoke of her less-than-desirable entry into the world—her morning after photo at the cabin—except for every piece of dirt they thought they could grab on her—Viserys’s mental health issues, Rhaegar’s family tragedy, her father’s abusiveness, she managed to turn it around._

_And she still wasn’t married yet._

~/~/~/~

“Oh Daenerys.”

Dany poked her fingertip at the corner of her eye, trying not to blink away her mascara or smudge her eye makeup. She smiled at her mother, trying not to burst into tears herself. It did not seem real to her, what was going to happen in a few short moments. It seemed everything was ready. Months of planning, most of it not even hers but the various staff members whose entire job it seemed to be to put something like this on. It wasn’t even that grand of an affair, certainly not the incredible display of pomp and circumstance that was the wedding of Robb and Margaery, first a televised affair at the Great Sept of Baelor in Kingsland, in honor of Margaery’s religion, and then another small affair in front of the Winterfell heart-tree, to honor Robb’s and the North’s religion.

As she did not particularly follow any particular religion nor was, she wedded to any specific place in Essos for her wedding, she agreed to having the ceremony in the Winterfell godswood. It was something Jon had wanted, if he ever were to marry, and she was perfectly alright with it. They met in the North, it was where they’d fallen in love, and so she considered it only right that they marry there too. Their ceremony would _not_ be televised. Davos had done an incredible job of fending off the press, who were salivating like dogs with a bone over the wedding of HRH Prince Jon to the _commoner._

“Don’t you know, all the little girls want to be like you,” Arya had teased her, after a particularly stressful meeting over the wedding, where Jon’s aunt—Queen Catelyn—had been furious that they weren’t going to have it on television. If only to show off the godswood, make more press for the family, and display Margaery and Robb as the “true” royal couple, Catelyn had argued in her attempts to convince Ned that it should be on television. Arya had been pleased that she didn’t need to worry about being on TV—she hated it as much as Jon. “You’re the common girl who married a prince.”

“The prince and me,” she mumbled to herself, still staring at her reflection.

She took a deep breath, her hands folding over her belly, which felt tight in her dress. It was a gorgeous piece of lace and silk, rather simple, with long silk sleeves and a high collar. There was a ‘v’ that cut down the front to just show the barest hint of cleavage. The skirt fell down to the ground, with a short train, the silk skirts overlaid with lace, patterned along the hem with intricate beading and embroidery, alternating loping wolves and soaring dragons.

Rhaella got up from her chair, wearing a deep crimson gown with a black coat, a three-headed dragon brooch on her left breast. Her platinum hair was twisted elegantly at the base of her neck, with a ruby and onyx beaded clip tucked into the side. Ruby earrings dangling from her earlobes and her lilac eyes twinkling, shining with tears. “Your prince, darling,” she whispered, coming up behind her. She reached around Dany to the table, which was scattered with makeup and hair supplies. The makeup and hair stylists had departed, at the request of Rhaella. They were almost there; it was sundown, soon enough she would leave the castle, get into a carriage pulled by a silver horse, and arrive at the godswood.

Where she would marry her prince.

On the table was the box that Dany hadn’t opened yet. She had seen it, of course. Queen Catelyn had been the one to bring her into the vault, deep in the heart of Winterfell, where her mouth had gaped at the sheer amount of jewels and diamonds and ancient history filling the large, highly secure room. The jewels Jon gifted her were there, she had seen them of course, but this was an entirely separate area, previously off-limits. It housed the personal arsenal, so to speak, of all the royals that came before them, jewels gathered from the far reaches of the world. _The money alone could feed all of Essos for the next hundred years_ , she had thought. Catelyn said that all brides wore a tiara, and like Margaery and the other brides who married into the Stark family had before her, Dany was allowed to choose hers. “All but these,” she had said, eliminating a handful that were apparently only the Queen’s.

They were so beautiful; some had pearls, emeralds, rubies, and amethysts. Others glittering in diamonds. Some looked incredibly heavy, tall and ornate, while others were simple, thin circlets or short little bandeaus. She had stopped at one, unable to break away once she looked at it. None of the others mattered once she laid eyes upon it. It was breathtaking. A thin almost steel-like band twisted like branches with a sapphire, like roses. Just like her engagement ring. Diamonds scattered across the branches. It was simple, elegant, and it was _perfect._

“That was Princess Lyanna’s,” Catelyn had only said, when Dany pointed to it. That sealed it. She would wear Lyanna Stark’s tiara when she married Lyanna Stark’s son.

Now, weeks after she had picked it out, she reached for the box, slowly lifting the lid up, revealing the pristine piece of Northern royal history. It was said that the tiara had been in the family since one of the first princesses, gifted to her after she married into the Starks. The princess had been the daughter of the Warg King, they called him. They said she was magic; she could transform into animals. Dany thought it appropriate she also wore the princess’s tiara.

Rhaella took it carefully, a tiny sound slipping her lips, almost a little sob, as she carefully set it into Dany’s hair, her silver braids pulled tight from her face, in a design of her own making, twisted and snaking together like a crown, before falling over loose tendrils to the center of her back. She lifted her face to her mother’s, unable to stop the tears falling. She squeezed her hands tight. “So…how do I look?” she whispered.

“He’s never going to know what hit him,” Rhaella whispered, leaning to touch her forehead to her daughter’s. She laughed softly. Drops of tears fell to their joined hands. “I’m so glad you found him, Daenerys. My little dragon.”

 _Me too Muna._ She could barely speak, so instead she nodded, and glanced quickly in the mirror at her reflection. It was hard to believe that was her, standing there staring back, in a designer wedding dress with an heirloom tiara. She moved over to the final piece, a white cloak with an embroidered three-headed dragon; it was again another Northern custom. The cloak would switch out after they said their vows, Jon would turn it around, the inside white with an embroidered wolf. The sigil of House Stark, effectively bringing her under his family’s name.

Instead of a veil, the hood would be lowered instead. Rhaella helped her into the cloak. The pin was a three-headed dragon on one side and a wolf on another, joining together. Dany didn’t have a sigil; she had chosen the dragon because it was apparently something their family had used in the ancient times, but it was also her family. Her brothers and her, or her mother and Rhaegar and her. They were all three.

“Here we are,” Rhaella murmured, lifting the bouquet from the box by the door. Blue winter roses, to match her tiara, her ring, and his mother’s favored flower. Dany took the bouquet and blew out a hard breath. Her mother beamed. “Are you ready love?”

Dany exhaled hard, laughing. She reached a finger up to catch a tear on her knuckle, nodding fast. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

They left the room, one of the various Stark aides leading them to the carriage. Dany hopped easily into it, Rhaella joining her, where she held her mother’s hand tight in hers, heart racing. It wasn’t out of fear or really even nerves. It wasn’t that she would walk into the godswood as Daenerys Targaryen, regular ole’ commoner and walk out as Her Royal Highness, Daenerys, Duchess of Winterfell. It was the realization in a few short moments, she would pledge her love for all time to the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

And it all started because she had arrived late to her apartment and been knocked over by his dog. The fates were truly mysterious, she thought, smiling as the carriage came to a stop before the entrance to the godswood. Rhaella descended first, helped by one of the footmen. Dany barely noticed that their photographer was taking pictures somewhere. She felt her boots hit the smoky gray runner, which tracked through the snow, their few guests standing in lieu of sitting, as the ceremony was not very long. The iron gates were pulled back, flanked with towers of candles.

Rhaella took her arm, patting her hand, and with a big breath, Dany began to walk, hearing the strains of cellos and violins playing softly in the background. She turned the corner around one of the massive blue rose bushes, and paused, seeing the group of people, with Rhaegar and Viserys—both of whom were crying and pretending they weren’t—at the front and Missandei and her boyfriend Grey. One of Rhaella’s friends from Essos— _not_ her boyfriend, just a friend, she insisted—Barristan Selmy waiting with them, smiling wide at her. Dany smirked, seeing Rhaella’s cheeks turn pink.

On the other side of the runner were the Starks and some of Jon’s friends. The King of Winter, Eddard Stark, stood before the white weirwood, as he would perform the ceremony as the head of the household. He wore his traditional military uniform, as did Robb. It wasn’t any of them that she noticed. All Dany could see was Jon. He was beaming, in his black uniform coat and shiny boots and a gray sash over his chest, with all his medals gleaming. He stole her breath. His dark curls were free, even brushed out they were still tangled around his face, and he grinned at her. In lieu of a best man to stand beside him, holding the rings, he had Ghost, who wore a black velvet bow tie.

“Here we go,” she whispered, taking her first step down the aisle towards what would be the rest of her life.

~/~/~/~

_The signs were all there, I just didn't see them, because really, who is actually looking for a prince? Not me, yet I found one. Or rather, he found me. We found each other. And so while I would not say it ended in happily ever after, because that is only an ending for fairytales, I will just say that it is happy so far, and we are nowhere near our ending just yet…_

“Ghost!”

The call of Jon throughout the house for the wolf tore Dany’s attention from the computer screen. She hurriedly moved to save the work, lest the last few hours of her time and hundreds of brain cells be wasted. At her feet, Ghost barely moved, merely rolled one red eye towards the open doors leading onto the wide terrace beyond her study. She closed her laptop, turning to see Jon come in from outside, holding his phone loosely in one hand and a simple red-petaled flower in the other. She grinned. “Who is the flower for?”

“I got it for Ghost, think he’ll like it?” He twirled it around his nose, before walking over and passing it to her. “Your Royal Highness.”

“I think that’s my line,” she teased, sniffing at the flower. It smelled lovely. She tucked it in the bud vase on her desk, with a couple others he’d gifted her from their garden. One of the gardens, as they had three around their house, a lovely little cottage on the coast, not far from her mother. She preferred to stay in Braavos most of the time, when they weren’t up North, where they also had a house, near the Wall. _Castle Black_ , she thought with a wry smile, of Jon’s ancestral seat that was far too big for the both of them. Also very drafty, although Ghost loved it.

She turned back around again, giggling when Jon lifted her from her chair, arms wrapped tight around her waist, kissing at her neck. “Hey, what’s all this for?” Not that she minded, she just liked to know what got him into these moods.

“No reason, just saw you sitting there, from the beach.” He kissed her nose. His voice dropped, brow furrowing in concern. “You seemed…far away. You alright?”

 _More than alright_ , she thought with a tiny smile. She sighed, arms returning to around his neck, on her tippy-toes as she hugged him. He lifted her slightly, so her feet rested atop his and began to sway, moving them from the airy bookcase-paneled study out to the terrace, with the wind blowing softly from the Narrow Sea. Her eyes fell shut, drowsy from the combination of the salty breeze, break from writing, and being in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, fingers tight in his. “When do you go back up to Queen Alysanne’s?” she mumbled.

He had to defend his dissertation, which she knew he would do successfully. He’d put it off until that term, to add in some more research he’d discovered from his raiding of the old libraries in Assh’ai, which she’d managed to get him into with some coaxing and very, _very_ slight bribery of a Red Priestess from Braavos, who knew people in the secretive, shadowy city on the far side of Essos. “Mmmm, in a few weeks.” He kissed her temple, murmuring. “You going to be there right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Just like he’d been there when she’d graduated, what seemed like ages ago, but was really two years. It was hard to imagine that _four years ago_ , maybe almost five, they met on that stoop. Someone had actually put a little sign, saying that that was the place where Prince Jon of the North met Princess Daenerys. Even though she wasn’t a princess.

“I don’t know how it will go.” He was so adorable when he was nervous, his voice trembling. It quickened slightly with worry. “I mean, I submitted it and everything and Jeor Mormont looked it over and said it was the best he’d seen, but I don’t think I spent enough time justifying my premises in the fifth section…”

She touched her finger to his lips, silencing him. “You will be amazing,” she murmured, kissing him gently. He smiled and she smiled back, murmuring into his mouth against his lips. “You are going to get your doctorate and you will be Doctor Jon Snow.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” he said, pinking at the praise.

“Oh I’ll call you that. _Doctor_ ,” she drawled, waggling her brows, laughing when his cheeks warmed further, embarrassed. “You’re so funny Jon.”

They shared another kiss, long and slow, breaking only when Ghost whined. Jon glanced down at the dog, who was wagging his tail in massive sweeping arcs on the wooden beams. “What? Are you hungry?”

Ghost whined again, feet stretching out and head dropping to his paws, eyes locked on them both. Jon frowned again. “What’s his problem? He hasn’t left your side in days. Won’t even go on our runs together.”

“Um, well, he’s keeping me company I guess, while I finish writing.”

His eyes widened. “Oh the article! Will you let me read it?”

“Not yet.” Now it was her turn to blush with embarrassment. It was just a silly thing. An article from her words, to the North—well to everyone—outlining who Daenerys Targaryen happened to be. It was essentially her “hello world” and “goodbye world” speech, a couple years in the making. No one ever heard from her directly, as she did not do interviews, just the initial one after their engagement announcement and a joint one regarding their wedding, for a news magazine since Catelyn wanted to display wedding dresses and memorabilia from the years in some major exhibit at Winterfell.

It was also nice that Margaery and Robb were popping out kids, already on their second, which drew attention from her and Jon. They moved to Essos, they stayed off the radar. He was finishing his dissertation and already had a job lined up to teach at a university in Braavos. They were Jon and Dany over here, plus they kept Rhaella company, and she doted on Jon. She was the mother he didn’t have, Dany thought, knowing Jon needed the nurturing that she could provide, that he’d never received, even though Ned tried.

She took a deep breath, slowly exhaling again, meeting his concerned gaze. “It is still not quite done yet.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, not just yet.” There was still something else they would need to add. She moved his hand from where it was resting comfortably in the small of her back, bringing it between them, and pressing his palm over her lower abdomen. All the while she tried to keep her voice steady and tears from blurring her vision, but she was failing miserably on both counts. “I have to add a little something extra.”

To her _not_ surprise, Jon had no idea what she meant. He frowned, confused. “What do you need to add? An ending quote? You know I’m not good with words, otherwise I’d help.”

“You’re not good with a lot of things,” she laughed, unable to stop herself. _The obvious, for example,_ she thought. Her hand pressed his tighter on her belly, Ghost whining as she did. Her forehead pressed to his, breath whispering over his face. “Prince Jon, Duke Jon, Doctor Jon…so many names you have.”

“Hmm, I told you it’s just Jon.”

Her breath came out in a gasp, the word exhaling from her in relief, so glad to have the secret out. It had only been a few days of keeping it in, but she had to sit with it, to figure out how to tell him, and then how to tell her mother of course. “Well, how about…Daddy Jon?” _There, I said it._

It took a moment for it to dawn on him, confusion apparent in the twist of his frown, the furrow of his brows. He blinked hard, fingers flexing into her belly, and a little gasp escaped his parted lips, likely surprised by the firm swell he found there. She might have been a bit in denial over her condition, not finding out until she was well beyond three months. It was just…Dany couldn’t be sure, and she was scared. Thanks to a phone call with Missandei, who did some digging, she found a discreet doctor who would sooner throw herself from atop the Great Pyramid in Meereen than sell the story to anyone.

It also explained Ghost’s refusal to let her from his sight. She nibbled her lower lip, still waiting Jon’s reaction. He had been awfully quiet, his breath hitching in his throat, really the only true indication he had heard her. “Jon?” she whispered. She really hoped he wasn’t freaking out. She swallowed; throat dry now. “Are you…are you alright?”

And then she was off the ground, his mouth crushing hers, fingers diving into her hair, and she laughed, crying out in happiness as he spun her around. “Gods, Dany,” he exclaimed. He dropped her to the ground, kissing her again, hard and swift. She felt it clear to her toes, which curled into the warm wooden terrace floor. His gray eyes were shining, his smile breaking across his face. “A baby? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she giggled.

They laughed some more, spun around a bit, until dizziness had her swaying and Jon immediately concerned, before he lifted her into his arms, bride-over-threshold style. They made their way down to the beach, a far cry from their first date up by the Wall, or the snowy cold of their waterfalls. It was warm, soft, and yet it was also them, she thought, accepting another kiss he gave her, their arms entwined together. She rested her head on his shoulder, sighing in pleasure. Jon squeezed her closer. “Have you told anyone else?”

“No, but Missandei suspects.”

“Of course she does.”

She looked up, grinning. “We have to tell my mom first; you know we do.”

“Gods, she’s going to go through the roof.”

They would think of how to tell Rhaella and when. It wouldn’t take long before people started to suspect when they saw her. Her jeans were already a little too snug. Dany kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand tight. “Come on, let’s go back inside, I’ve got to finish the article. I’m almost done.”

As she finished typing, Jon fed Ghost, who wanted nothing to do with his organic farm-raised grass-fed beef dinner, which probably cost more than their house, as he preferred to sit with her until she was ready to go into the kitchen. “He’s so spoiled,” Jon groused.

“You started it with him.”

“Aye, my fault.” He glanced over her shoulder. “So? You done?”

Dany saved it one more time, nodding. She hit the button to print, waiting for it to spit from the machine in the corner, before she stacked the papers nicely and took a deep breath, passing it over to him. It was fairly long, would likely get cut down. It would make a nice little story, she thought, for their child. Her hands folded over her belly, as Jon stood behind her, cradling her into the groove of his body, where they fit perfectly. He glanced at the title, chuckling. “ _The Prince and Me_?”

“Yes, every little girl’s fantasy, but I hope I can show them that it’s something more.”

“And how is that?”

“Well…” They left the study, walking back out onto the terrace and then towards one of the gardens, Ghost snapping at bumblebees and butterflies in their wake. “I went North to go to school, to further myself professionally and academically, and in the end…” She lifted her face towards him, smiling softly. She shrugged. “I fell in love. I tripped right into a literal prince, who became my best friend, and fell in love, but it wasn’t that you were a prince Jon.” She looped her arms around his neck, their heads falling together once more. She swallowed back tears, feeling very weepy all of a sudden. _It’s because of the baby_ , she blamed. She took a deep breath, laughing. “It’s because you were just…adorable, stupid, oblivious, awkward…Jon.”

He smiled shyly, another quality she loved most about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Just Jon.”

They embraced again, his words whispering over her ear, smiling into her. “Just Dany.”

Ghost barked, jumping around both of them, making himself known. She broke from Jon, sweeping down to grab hold of the wolfdog, who licked at her face, dancing on his hind legs with his great paws on her forearms, in his version of a doggy laugh. She grinned, ensuring that he was also involved in their celebration. “And just Ghost!”

**fin.**


End file.
